


When in Rome

by RockSaltAndRoll



Series: Take a Picture [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Big Steve, Fluff, M/M, Roman Holiday AU, Romance, Teen Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-25 03:32:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4945186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltAndRoll/pseuds/RockSaltAndRoll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman Holiday AU - Steve Rogers is a young photojournalist trying to get a foot on the ladder. Bucky Barnes is the teenage son of two United States Presidents with a reputation. </p><p>After a bad start to his teenage years, Bucky's life has been strictly regimented and all he wants is to be able to spend his 18th birthday the way he wants to instead of shadowing his father on trade negotiations. After sneaking out of the embassy, he meets Steve and leads the photojournalist on a merry adventure through Rome for a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not watched the 1953 Audrey Hepburn/Gregory Peck movie 'Roman Holiday', then you need to, because it's my all time favourite movie and it's the cutest, most feel-good story ever. 
> 
> If you have seen it, then you'll recognise a lot of the dialogue XD

It was tough being the delinquent son of not just one, but two United States Presidents. James Buchanan Barnes sighed heavily as he looked out from the window of the embassy in Rome, watching the group of young people around his own age across the street, laughing and chatting excitedly as they walked in a group towards their destination. They were probably going to a club given the time of night, and Bucky wished more than anything else that he could tag along.

Earlier in his teens, James Buchanan – Bucky to his friends....if he had any - had made a few devastating mistakes: there had been an incident at boarding school where he’d been caught giving his English teacher a blow job; and then there had been a slight cocaine problem in the next school he’d been sent to. The problem was, the White House was a fishbowl and the pressures on him to be a Good and Dutiful Son had been too high. James Barnes had only ever really wanted to have a normal life, but instead he had been paraded out at rallies and hounded by paparazzi at school and out with friends, and it seemed like everyone he met wanted something from him.

Anybody would have cracked under the pressure, and fifteen year old Bucky had done just that. Afterwards, his parents had taken him out of school altogether to have him tutored at home, and put him under the watchful eye of Alexander Pierce. He couldn’t even pee without Pierce knowing about it – the man was in charge of every aspect of his life, from his schooling schedule to the people he could interact with to the activities he was allowed to do. In three years, James Buchanan Barnes hadn’t so much been allowed to sit outside of Starbucks and drink a latte in the sun by himself.

He understood why is parents had done it – they loved him and wanted to keep him safe, but most of the time he just felt like a prisoner. What he wouldn’t give to just be free of it all for a single day to do what he wanted instead of having his entire life dictated to him. Tomorrow was his eighteenth birthday, and instead of spending it doing fun things, like exploring Rome for example, he was going to be shadowing his father on his trade relations tour. It was entirely depressing.

“Come away from the window, James,” Pierce hailed him from inside the room. “You’ll catch a cold.”

Bucky sighed dejectedly as he tore his eyes away from the group of kids in the street, still laughing and chatting to one another, and allowed Pierce to close the window and draw the curtains as Bucky clambered into bed and settled down against the mountain of duck feather pillows.

“You’ll never sleep with all that noise going on outside,” grumbled Pierce as he helped Bucky pull up his covers.

“I won’t sleep anyway,” Bucky replied petulantly. “Too tired to sleep.”

Pierce ignored him as he took his glasses from his jacket pocket and picked up the diary from the bedside table. How Bucky hated that diary.

“Now,” Pierce continued. “Tomorrow’s schedule....or ‘skedule’, whichever you prefer – both are correct: eight thirty, breakfast here with the Embassy staff; nine o'clock, we leave for the Polinory Automotive Works where you'll be presented with a small car.”

“Thank you,” Bucky murmured, practicing his acceptance with a strained smile.

Pierce looked at him from over the top of his spectacles.

“Which you will not accept.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Of course.

“No, thank you,” he muttered, folding his arms across his chest.

“Ten thirty five,” Pierce continued, as though Bucky hadn’t even spoken. “Inspection of food and agricultural organisation will present you with an olive tree.”

Bucky made a face.

“No, thank you.”

“Which you will accept,” Pierce hold him sternly.

“Thank you,” replied Bucky, resigned.

“Ten fifty-five, the Newfoundling Home For Orphans. You will preside over the laying of the cornerstone; your father will give the same speech as last Monday.”

Bucky looked up from picking absently at the bedcovers.

“Trade relations?” he asked, confused.

“Yes.”

“For the orphans?”

Pierce looked up from the diary and waved his hand dismissively.

“No, no, the other one.”

“Youth and progress,” he murmured, feigning brightness.

He could have recited that speech by heart, he’d heard his father give it so many times.

“Precisely,” Pierce replied, turning back to the diary. “Eleven forty-five, back here to rest. No, that's wrong... eleven forty-five, conference here with the press.”

“Sweetness and decency,” muttered Bucky, rolling his eyes.

“One o'clock sharp, lunch with the Foreign Ministry. Three-o five, presentation of a plaque.”

“Thank you.”

“Four-ten, review special guard.”

“No, thank you.”

“Four forty-five back here to change to meet the international...”

It just went on and on. Every single day of Bucky’s life was endless times and activities from that god damn diary and it never stopped. He was going to spend his entire eighteenth birthday with a forced smile, shaking hands and staying mostly silent as to not embarrass his father in front of important people, and it was all too much.

“STOP!” Bucky shouted. “Please stop! Stop...!”

Pierce didn’t even seem startled by Bucky’s outburst, calmly removing his glasses and regarding him coolly.

“Whatever is the matter?”

Bucky could feel himself getting hot, his heart start to beat faster as the knot of anxiety in his stomach began to tighten.

“I can’t stand it. I can’t take another single day of this...bowing and scraping and ‘yes, sir’, ‘no, sir’, ‘thank you’, ‘so happy to meet you’, ‘charming’...”

“You’re ill,” Pierce replied, voice still as annoyingly calm as always. “I'll send for Doctor Karpov.”

“I don't want Doctor Karpov,” Bucky said, ripping one of the large down pillows from behind his head and covering his face with it. “Please let me die in peace!”

“You're not dying,” Pierce told him sternly. “It's nerves; control yourself.”

“I don't want to!” Bucky yelled, voice muffled by the pillow.

He heard Pierce sigh irritably.

“I'll get Doctor Karpov,” he said, turning and heading for the door.

Bucky lifted the corner of his pillow so he could shout after him.

“It's no use; I'll be dead before he gets here.”

Pierce didn’t reply and Bucky let out a frustrated groan into his pillow as Pierce’s footsteps faded. He was going to end up paying for his outburst and for acting like a spoiled brat, but at least he’d stopped Pierce from telling him any more about his full birthday schedule. Removing the pillow from his face, Bucky took a few deep breaths to calm down and closed his eyes against the bright lights, listening to the bustle of activity in the embassy hallway outside his room and caught the sound of extra footsteps approaching his room.

“He looks like he’s asleep,” said the Doctor in his heavy accent.

“He was threatening suicide three minutes ago,” Pierce replied impatiently.

“I was not,” muttered Bucky.

He’d never meant for his words to be taken that way – honestly, Bucky had just been acting melodramatic. Karpov put his bag down on the bedside table and pressed a hand against Bucky’s forehead.

“I'm okay, Doctor Karpov,” Bucky murmured as a thermometer was placed in his mouth. “I don’t know what came over me – it just all got a little too much.”

Karpov gave Bucky’s shoulder a reassuring pat.

“It’s a perfectly normal thing to do,” he replied. “Don’t worry too much about it.”

“It’s important that he’s well-rested and calm for tomorrow,” said Pierce sternly.”

“I will be,” Bucky insisted as the thermometer was removed and Karpov peered at it. “Don't worry, I'll be calm and relaxed and I...I'll bow and I'll smile and...I’ll be quiet and I, and I won’t...”

“There he goes again,” Pierce said, unimpressed. “Give him something, Doctor, please.”

Bucky watched helplessly as Karpov brought out a syringe and a vial. Pierce was stony-faced.

“What's that?” Bucky asked in a small voice.

“Sleep and calm,” replied Karpov gently. “This will relax you and make you feel a little happy. It's just a sedative, quite harmless.”

Bucky scrunched up his face at the sharp scratch of the needle, and didn’t at all like the feeling of the liquid being pushed through his veins.

“I don't feel any different,” he murmured as he watched Karpov pack up.

“You will,” the doctor replied. “It may take a little time to take hold. Just now, lie back.”

Bucky, as always, did as he was instructed and lay back against the multitude of pillows, avoiding Pierce’s eyes. He watched as they both retreated from his room and Pierce turned off all the lights before closing the door behind him. Bucky wasn’t even sure Pierce had even looked at him before he’d done so, which meant he was done with Bucky’s shit for the day.

Inhaling slowly he looked around the dark room, his eyes adjusting to the gloom as they picked out the ornamentation on the ceiling and the huge sculpted headboard. From outside, he could faintly hear music and laughter, and Bucky suddenly remembered the group of friends he’d seen across the street from the embassy. He quickly threw back the covers and ran to the window, opening it and leaning out. The group of young people were long gone, but the breeze was warm on his face and he could see the buildings of the city lit up in night, far into the distance.

Nobody would notice of he slipped out for a few hours, would they? As far as he knew, nobody usually came to check on him during the night, so as long as he was back by morning it would be fine. He wouldn’t be missed. He didn’t want to get up to anything nefarious, it’s just that he was never going to get the opportunity to explore Rome if he was subject to Pierce’s rigid schedule, and on his birthday no less. He just wanted to take a few hours for himself for the first time in three years. That wasn’t exactly a crime.

Quickly, he hurried to his wardrobe, pulled on some clothes – a plain white shirt, slim tie, and perfectly cut indigo jeans – and stole to the door, silently opening it and peering out. Rumlow, his Secret Service agent, was stood at the end of the hall with his back to Bucky.

Pausing as he closed the door, he climbed out of the side window onto the balcony outside and walked along to the edge of the adjacent balcony, jumping down with a slight noise onto the ground. Glancing furtively around, he entered a large, empty room, looked around on either side and then continue, going through the door and finding himself on a corridor upstairs, encircling the large central area. He ran along to the end, turning the corner and then onto the other side, continuing on to a staircase and down it towards the exit. Outside, still in the grounds of the Embassy, he ran along a courtyard area, keeping his back against the wall. Looking round the corner he spotted a man jumping out of a small supply truck.

Bucky took his chance, running over to quietly hop into the back of the truck. The man returned within a moment, throwing a couple of bags into the back where Bucky was hiding before climbing back into the van, starting the engine, and driving off. Guards at the entrance of the Embassy grounds opened the gates and the little truck was out, driving Bucky to freedom.

He looked round with delight, moving the bag out of the way, leaning his arm on some goods to see out the back better. It was exhilarating, this small taste of freedom; watching the truck go past a sidewalk cafe, busy with people, then waving to a couple driving behind on a scooter. The goods rattled in the back as the truck bounced around, and Bucky rested on a box, closing his eyes, happy.  He wondered what he should do and where he should go as the truck continued to drive through the city. Bucky hadn’t even so much as looked at a guide book for Rome.

He must have dozed off but he had no idea how long for as the truck stopped abruptly and horns blared, startling Bucky awake. There was some shouting in Italian, and Bucky thought it best to abandon his escape vehicle while he could. Jumping out, Bucky ran to the footpath as the truck screeched away, and he leaned against a tree, yawning again.  He felt warm and relaxed, the whole world seemed like it was slowing down and the lights brighter than they had been before. It was pretty, and Bucky had never felt so glad of doing something naughty in his whole life.

 

****

 

Steve Rogers stepped out of an apartment building into the brightly lit street and started to walk, hands in pockets, down the street to catch a taxi. He’d just lost a sizeable amount of cash in a poker game at his friend Sam’s and now he was down to his last hundred Euros. Wilson had got lucky on that last hand, clearing Steve out of at least six hundred on a straight flush, and Steve had decided that was a good time to take what he had left and go home seeing as that money had to last him until the next pay day. With any luck he’d get some decent pictures of the former President of the United States at the press conference the next day, which SHIELD Press would buy and Steve would make enough to keep himself ticking over until the next job.

He was twenty-two, fresh out of college with a bachelor’s degree and trying desperately to establish a foothold in the world of photojournalism. He just needed to find his story. Steve slowed down as he passed by a park bench, glancing curiously at the young man lying face down upon it. 

“Sooooo happy...” the lad murmured. 

Steve stopped, turning round to look at him. He couldn’t have been much older than eighteen years old, dressed remarkably smart for a kid. Steve blinked as the boy stirred on the bench and groaned luxuriously. 

“Mmmmmmmmm.... hmmmmm.... mmmmmmmmmmm..." 

He rolled to the side and Steve darted forward to prevent the kid from rolling off the bench and onto the pavement. 

“Hey!” he said loudly, rolling the boy onto his back. “Hey, wake up!” 

“Thank you very much,” the kid murmured, eyes still closed. "Delighted...” 

He sounded drunk as hell, which was just what Steve Rogers didn’t want to deal with in the middle of the night in Rome. 

“Wake up,” Steve said again, shaking the boy’s shoulder. 

“No, thank you,” the kid murmured, still half asleep and raising his hand to Steve. “Charmed.” 

Raising his eyebrows, Steve glanced around and then tentatively shook the proffered hand. 

“Yeah, likewise.” 

He looked around again. There didn’t seem to be any groups around, only the odd straggler on their way home and nothing but Italian to be heard all around. Steve wondered who this kid was and what he was doing drunk and alone on a bench in the middle of the night. 

“I think you’d better sit up,” Steve added, sliding his hand under the kid’s arm and hauling him upright. "You’re much too young to get picked up by the police.” 

“Police?” he asked sleepily. 

“Yep, po-lice.” 

The kid wobbled slightly and Steve tightened his grip. 

“Two-fifteen and back here to change. Two forty-five...” the kid trailed off, still not awake. 

Steve shook his head in mild amusement. 

“You know, people who can't handle liquor shouldn't drink it,” he said. 

The young man turned his head slowly to look at Steve, blinking unsteadily. 

“’If I were dead and buried and I heard your voice beneath the sod, my heart of dust would still rejoice.’ Do you know that poem?” 

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Huh, what do you know?” he said, sinking down onto the bench, his hand still keeping the kid steady. “You're well-read, well-dressed; you're snoozing away in a public street. Would youcare to make a statement?” 

“’What the world needs is a return to sweetness and decency in the souls of its young men and...’” he trailed off again, slumping sideways into Steve and resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, closing his eyes with a smile. “Mmmmmhhhhhhhhmmmmm...” 

“Yeah,” Steve murmured, looking down at the fluffy dark head resting against his light blue shirt. “I couldn’t agree with you more.” 

The kid’s head was heavy against his shoulder and Steve could feel the heat radiating off of him. Bright headlights rounded the corner and Steve glanced up, spotting the taxi sign. Gratefully, he hailed it and pulled the kid to his feet as the taxi ground to a halt at the curb. 

“Get yourself some coffee; you'll be alright.” Steve said, patting him on the shoulder as he stood up and began to walk over to the cab. 

Behind him, the kid slumped back down onto the bench, asleep again. The cab driver looked between Steve and the kid passed out on the bench and shook his head. Steve indicated for the taxi driver to bear with him and went back to the kid, shaking his shoulder gently. 

“Look, you take the cab,” he said. 

“Mmmmm,” the boy responded without stirring. 

Steve glanced back at the driver who had his arm resting against the window, impatiently. Steve knew how the guy felt: he was starting to feel his own patience wearing away. 

“Come on, climb in the cab and go home,” he said sternly, pulling the young man to his feet. He was taller than Steve had expected; just a few inches shorter than Steve’s six-foot-two. “You got any money?” Steve asked. 

“Never carry money.” 

“That's a bad habit.” 

“Mm,” the kid agreed. 

Steve sighed. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this. Any other guy would leave the kid on the bench. 

“Alright, I'll drop you off; come on.” He supported most of the boy’s weight as they walked to the cab and Steve pulled open the door. 

“It's a taxi!” the kid said brightly, as if noticing it for the first time. 

“Well, it's not the Orient Express,” Steve muttered sarcastically, bundling the boy into the taxi and climbing in after him. 

“Where are we going?” asked the taxi driver in Italian. Steve gave the kid a swift shake. 

“Where do you live?” 

“Coliseum,” he mumbled. 

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Now, come on, you're not that drunk.” 

To Steve’s surprise, the kid started laughing. 

“Shows how much you know! I'm not drunk at all. I'm just...” he trailed off as his head hit Steve’s shoulder again, “verrrrry haaaappy...” 

“Hey, now, don't fall asleep again,” Steve said, exasperated. 

In the front of the cab, the driver was getting very irate, asking him over and over in Italian where he wanted to go. Steve’s Italian was amateur at best and so, after one last attempt to wake the drunk young man sitting next to him, threw his hands up in defeat and gave the angry taxi driver his own address. He really hoped he wouldn’t live to regret his decision.  

 

**** 

 

The kid was barely awake as he shuffled up the stairs behind Steve to the apartment, resting his head sleepily on Steve’s shoulder when he stopped to unlock the door. “Aw, c’mon now,” Steve muttered, straightening so the boy would stand back up. 

“So happy...” he murmured, swaying slightly with his eyes closed. 

Steve caught him by the wrist before he overbalanced and herded him through the door, turning on the light and closing the door behind them. 

“I must be out of my head,” he grumbled. 

His house guest blinked against the light. 

"Is this the elevator?” 

“It's my room,” Steve replied, offended. 

Alright, so it was the world’s crappiest apartment, about all he could afford on freelance wages and basically a single room with a bed, a couch, a table, and a bathroom you could barely turn around in. The view from the balcony was worth it though – you could see must of Rome from there. The kid wavered and almost toppled over as he walked to the bed and put a hand on the headboard to steady himself. 

“I'm sorry to mention it, but the dizziness is getting worse,” he murmured, looking around him slowly. “Can I sleep here?” 

“That was the general idea,” Steve replied as he walked over and opened the small closet near the front door. 

“Do I get silk pyjamas?” the kid giggled. 

Steve raised an eyebrow. Where the hell had this one come from? Shaking his head, he rummaged through his closet and unearthed a pair of worn, soft pyjama bottoms, and tossed them at the lad’s head. 

“I'm afraid you'll have to rough it tonight in these.” 

“Flannel!” the kid said in delight as he unwrapped a pyjama leg from around his face. 

“Sorry, pal, but I haven't worn silk in years,” Steve replied. 

He watched with a mixture of irritation and amusement as the kid meticulously lay out the pyjamas on Steve’s bed before standing up and straightening expectantly. 

“Will you help me get undressed, please?” 

The request caught Steve completely off guard and he hesitated before stepping over. 

“Er...ok.” 

Now that they were in the light, Steve was looking clearly at the kid’s face properly for the first time – hazy gray-blue eyes with long dark eyelashes, an adorably dimpled chin, strong cheekbones. He was positively pretty. Clearing his throat, Steve unfastened the knot of the black skinny tie around his neck, sliding it away from the shirt collar. It felt unbelievably wrong to be undressing an intoxicated teenage boy in his room, and Steve was first and foremost, a gentleman. Handing the tie over, he took a step back and cleared his throat again.

“Er, there you are; you can handle the rest.” 

The boy looked down at it, blankly, then took it as Steve walked over to the table by the front door, pouring himself a glass of bourbon, and swallowing it in one gulp. This was already turning into a longer night than he’d expected. 

“May I have some?” the kid piped up brightly from the other side of the room, pulling the bottom of his shirt from the waistband of his pants. 

“No,” Steve said firmly, setting his glass down and crossing back over to him. “Now look...” 

“This is very unusual,” the young man interrupted him, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, then the top button. “I've never been alone in a strange man’s apartment before. Definitely not half undressed. Boy’s dorms, yes. Strange apartments, no...but I don't seem to mind.” He turned and gave Steve a brilliantly beautiful smile as he began to open the remaining buttons. “Do you?” 

“I think I'll go out for a cup of coffee,” Steve said desperately, turning around. 

The last thing he needed right now was to watch a seriously pretty, inebriated teenager strip out of his clothes in the middle of Steve’s bedroom. 

“Hm...” 

“You'd better get to sleep,” suggested Steve, heading for the door just as the kid began to sink down onto the bed. “Oh no...no no, not on the bed.” He pulled the boy up again and led him over to the couch. “You sleep on this one.” 

“That’s nice...” he murmured, still working on his shirt buttons. 

“And you do your sleeping on the couch, see? Not on the bed, not on the chair: on the couch; is that clear?” 

“Do you know my favourite poem?” the kid asked dreamily. 

Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Yeah, you already recited that for me.” 

He turned to get some blankets from the bed and one of his pillows. He hated that he had to sacrifice one of his pillows for a drunken teenager. Steve guessed he was just a bleeding heart. 

“‘Arethusa arose from her couch of snows in the Acroceraunian mountains’”, the boy began to recite, swaying gently on his feet. “Keats.” 

“Shelley,” corrected Steve automatically. 

“Keats!” he insisted. Steve took a deep breath. All he wanted was for the kid to shut the hell up and go to sleep. 

“If you just keep your mind off the poetry and on the pyjamas, everything'll be alright, see?” 

“It's Keats.” 

“It's Shelley,” Steve replied, exasperated.

“I'll be back in about ten minutes.”   

“Keats,” the boy called after him. 

Steve shook his head as the kid turned back to the task of undressing, and Steve thought it best to put the bottle of booze out of sight before he left – just in case.  

 

****

 

He didn’t go for coffee. It was too late, he was too tired, and he had to be up early for the former President’s press conference in the morning, so Steve just walked once around the block before heading back to his apartment. He didn’t know why he’d actually expected the kid to be asleep on the couch, because he wasn’t. Instead, the boy was on his back on top of Steve’s bed, wearing nothing but Steve’s old flannel pyjama pants which were too big and riding too low on the waist. He was flat out, lips gently parted and sort snores spilling forth. 

“Ah, jeez...” muttered Steve. 

Looking at him, Steve slammed the door shut hard, but the kid didn’t move a muscle. Steve sighed. He did not have the energy for this crap right now. He considered picking the kid up and dumping him on the couch...but he wasn’t that mean. 

“Too nice for your own good, Rogers,” he muttered to himself as he walked to the couch and began to get undressed, throwing his clothes in an untidy heap before crossing to the door to turn out the light and casting one last glance at the snoring teenager.  

“Screwball,” he groused as the room plunged into darkness and he crawled under the blankets on the couch that he was too tall to fit on comfortably.


	2. Chapter 2

Somewhere, not too far from Steve’s apartment, a clock struck twelve noon, stirring Steve awake as the chimes continued. He blinked, sunlight in his eyes and he couldn’t figure out why until he sat up and realised he was lying on the couch instead of in his bed. Suddenly remembering everything, Steve dived from his couch and scuttled over to his bed, grabbing his alarm clock and groaning in frustration as he realised that he was more than late for the President’s press conference.

“Shit,” he muttered as the dark haired young man in his bed stirred slightly and made a questioning noise. “I was supposed to be there for eleven forty-five!”

The kid made an annoyed sound as he turned over and buried his face into Steve’s pillow without waking up. Steve rolled his eyes.

“Oh, shut up,” he muttered before stumbling up and hurrying to retrieve his clothes.

Steve was going to be in so much trouble with Fury. He’d picked up the press conference assignment the night before in order to save himself time this morning, but now he’s slept in and missed it. Fury was going to be expecting photographs and Steve had nothing to show him, which meant, at best, he wasn’t going to be paid. At worst, Fury would strike him off the payroll.

He had to get to SHIELD Press HQ as quickly as possible, but he was down to his last hundred Euro thanks to Sam clearing him out in last night’s poker game, so a taxi wasn’t an option. Steve was going to have to run.

It took him longer than expected, due to street works and some areas between his apartment and the news office being cordoned off for some reason, and Steve was muttering curses under his breath as he finally made it to the building and took the stairs two at a time, hurrying past busy news desks.

“Steve!”

He stopped and turned as he was hailed. Sam Wilson waved him over.

“What the hell happened to you man? Fury is on the warpath.”

“Is he?” Steve asked, grimacing. “Shit.”

“You better get in there,” Sam replied, giving Steve’s shoulder a consolatory pat. “Good luck.”

“Yeah, thanks...”

Steve straightened and made his way to Editor-in-Chief Nick Fury’s office warily. He didn’t really enjoy lying and his boss could often see straight through any bullshit being thrown his way. It wasn’t even worth trying. The best he could do was try to save his contract with SHIELD at this point. Taking a deep breath, Steve knocked on Fury’s door.

“Come in.”

Fury sounded pissed off, and Steve braced himself, exchanging a worried glance with Sam, and then opened the door to the office.

“I hear you've been looking for me?”asked Steve brightly.

Fury looked...well...furious.

“Just coming in to work, Rogers?”

“Who, me?” Steve replied innocently.

Fury’s scowl was terrifying.

“We start our days at eight-thirty in this office; we pick up our assignments...”

“In my defence, I picked up mine last night,” Steve interrupted.

“What assignment was that?”

“The President’s press conference, eleven forty-five.”

“Oh,” replied Fury, voice dangerously cheerful. “Is that the press conference that was cancelled in light of the President’s son being taken violently ill at three o'clock this morning? You obviously haven’t been to that, so where the hell have you actually been?”

Steve closed his eyes in despair.

“Alright, alright, I overslept. It can happen to anybody!” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

Fury shook his head and sighed.

“The former President of the United States cancelled every single one of his appointments today to stay by his sick son’s bedside. If you ever get up early enough to read a morning paper you might discover little news.”

Irritably, Fury picked up one of the newspapers that sat on his desk and tossed it over to Steve who picked it up and read the headline. Then his mouth dropped open, because under the bold print ‘BARNES’ SON JAMES TAKEN ILL – TRADE NEGOTIATIONS ON HOLD’ was a picture of a dark-haired young man with grey-blue eyes, dimpled chin, and a strong jaw line. It looked like it was a couple of years old, but it was undoubtedly the same kid that Steve had left sleeping in his bed.

He glanced up at Fury.

“Is this Barnes’ son?”

“Yes, Mr. Rogers,” Fury replied, slowly, as though he were explaining the situation to an infant. “That is in fact James Buchanan Barnes. Take a good look at him; you might actually get a photograph of him someday!”

Steve closed his eyes in disbelief. How the hell had he not realised...?

“Am I fired?” he asked, looking at Fury again.

Fury looked at him for ten long and very painful seconds.

“No, you're not fired. When I wanna fire you, you won't have to ask - you'll know you're fired!”

“Thank you!” Steve replied breathlessly, turning and practically running from Fury’s office, still clutching the newspaper.

He’d been struck by an idea – one that could undoubtedly save his entire career, and ignored Sam’s voice calling to him across the news room as he sprinted for the door. This was only going to work if James Buchanan Barnes was still in Steve’s apartment. If not, he was screwed.

 

****

 

Steve practically fell through his own front door in his haste and his eyes went immediately to his bed where an attractive dark-haired teenager was still fast asleep on his stomach, snuggled comfortably into Steve’s pillow. Steve breathed a sigh of relief and quietly closed the door behind him, leaning heavily against it as he lifted up the newspaper and compared the picture to the sleeping boy.

It most definitely looked like the same person, but there was one way to make sure.

“Mr Barnes?” Steve called quietly, leaning towards him. “Mr James Buchanan Barnes?”

The kid stirred and let out a small sigh.

“Yes... what is it?” he murmured.

Steve practically punched the air in delight.

James Buchanan Barnes had not been in the public light for a couple of years, ever since a drug scandal at age fifteen where he had been hospitalised and his parents – one former President, and one current President – had removed him from society completely. The word was that he’d done a stint in rehab and then continued his schooling under a private tutor. He didn’t seem to have any contact with his old school friends, was never snapped on the street, and was only just starting a reintegration with the public, shadowing the former President on business trips. No wonder Steve hadn’t recognised him right away.

He couldn’t believe his good luck – what better for him than to have the President’s delinquent teenage son asleep in his bed? He could make so much money from this if he worked it right. It was just a shame he hadn’t realised who he’d been dealing with the night before, as pictures of the drunken boy would have been gold dust. A couple of weeks back into society and the kid was back to his old ways. It was almost too good to be true.

Outside his apartment, a police siren blared and Steve jumped guiltily, dashing to his window and looking out at the street below. Thankfully, the police car drove right on by and Steve released a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding in. He didn’t know why that hadn’t occurred to him before now either – this kid was the son of the President and he was missing. There was no way people wouldn’t be looking all over Rome for him, so Steve was going to have to tread carefully.

Back on the bed, James Buchanan Barnes stirred again.

“Hmmmm? Mr Pierce?”

“Uh...” Steve said, not sure what to do.

“I had this weird dream....” murmured James, rolling onto his back and covering his closed eyes with his forearm.

“Oh yeah?” replied Steve, deciding to play along for the time being. “What did you dream?”

“I was asleep on the street and... a guy came along...and he was tall and hot...”

“Is that right?” Steve murmured, smiling to himself.

“And...he was a total dick to me.”

Steve bit his lip guiltily.

“He was?”

“Mmmhmm...” Bucky replied, his lips suddenly curving into a smile. “It was awesome.” 

Steve covered his mouth to suppress a laugh. He watched as James Barnes removed his arm from his face and stretched, blue-grey eyes slowly fluttering open and beginning to focus on the crumbling paint on the ceiling. He frowned, and then his eyes shifted and focussed on Steve who was standing and leaning against the door.

“Good morning,” Steve said brightly.

The kid blinked at him.

“Where’s Mr Pierce?” he asked in a concerned voice.

Steve shrugged, unconcerned.

“I'm have no idea who you’re talking about.”

James Barnes glanced around him quickly, brow creasing in worry.

“Where the fuck am I?”

“Well, this is what is laughingly known as my apartment,” Steve replied cheerfully.

“And who the fuck are you?”

Steve laughed.

“Steve Rogers. And you are?”

The kid hesitated, pulling himself up to lean on his elbows.

“Bucky,” he replied slowly.

Steve nodded. James Barnes was hiding his identity. It spoke volumes.

“I’m delighted to meet you, Bucky.”

“Sure,” Bucky replied, warily.

Steve watched as he looked down at himself, eyes widening as he realised he was half naked and wearing nothing but old flannel pyjama bottoms.

“Did we have sex last night?” Bucky asked, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

Steve did laugh outright at that.

“No,” he replied. “We definitely did not.”

Bucky instantly relaxed, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Good.”

“Oh thanks,” laughed Steve. “That does wonders for my self esteem!”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Bucky replied with a grimace. “I meant that, if we HAD, it’s kinda something I’d want to remember.”

The kid looked at him, biting his lower lip as a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth and Steve could feel his face begin to heat up.

“Nice recovery,” Steve replied, ducking his head to hide his own smile, but not until he’d seen Bucky’s grin widen and wink at him cheekily.

Steve really should have known better judging by James Barnes’ reputation.

Bucky laughed, pulling himself up to sit properly and running a hand through his messed hair, looking much less concerned than he had a moment ago.

“So, uh...can I ask how in the hell I ended up here?” he asked.

“I stumbled across you half asleep and mumbling nonsense on a bench last night,” replied Steve with a grin. “It was either leave you to be picked up by the police, or bring you somewhere safe by myself, so I opted for the latter.”

Bucky grimaced again.

“Yikes. Sorry if I was a bother.”

“Oh, it was no bother at all, trust me.”

Bucky smiled at him.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Steve found himself smiling back, expression softening as he watched Bucky shift on his bed. The kid really was pretty as hell and, actually, kind of sweet. They smiled at each other for a few seconds longer before Bucky’s face suddenly fell and he sat bolt upright.

“Shit! What time is it?”

“About one thirty,” Steve replied. “Why?”

“One thirty? In the afternoon?”

Bucky jumped up from the bed, panicked as he started scouring the room for his clothes.

“I...I have to go! I’m in so much fucking trouble...”

“What's your hurry?” Steve replied soothingly, still leaning against the door. “There's plenty of time.”

“No, there isn't,” Bucky groaned, picking his shirt up off the floor. “I've- I've been enough trouble to you as it is.”

“Trouble?” Steve said with a grin. “You're not what I'd call trouble.”

Pausing in his search for clothes, Bucky looked up, a smile spreading across his face again.

“I'm not?”

Steve grinned at him, slowly pushing up from the door and wandering casually past Bucky to the bathroom.

“I'll get the shower running for you,” he said, smirking as James Barnes stared at him, eyes following Steve as he fiddled with the shower knobs and took out a fresh towel from the unit under the sink. “It’s not much, but it’ll refresh you.”

Bucky took the towel from him carefully and grinned.

“Thanks, Steve,” he murmured, still keeping his eyes on Steve as he negotiated his way around to the bathroom, and closed the door behind him.

Alone in his room, Steve swiftly dug out his phone and ran to the door, hurrying out of his apartment again as he searched through his contacts. He was going to need help from a trusted friend to pull this story off. Quickly, he found the number he needed and dialled. Two rings and it was answered.

“Sam Wilson.”

“Sam? It’s Steve!”

“Steve?” his friend replied. “What the hell man? You just ran outta here earlier!”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve replied. “I had...a tip-off I needed to confirm.”

He was standing some distance away from his apartment door, talking as quietly as he could and keeping an eye in that direction.

“Oh?” Sam said, his tone changing to one of interest. “You got a scoop?”

“Listen, Sam, I can't talk over the phone - one word in the wrong quarter and this whole thing might blow sky-high. It's front page stuff, that's all I can tell you. It might be political or it might be a sensational scandal - I'm not sure which, but it's a big story and I can’t do this without help.”

Sam Wilson was a real journalist, one that worked with words and not just pictures. Now, Steve could take all the pictures he wanted, but without a wordsmith, somebody who knew how to spin a story, they were just trashy paparazzo-type crap. In order to make this a story, he needed Sam on board. Together they could make this work.

“It’s a sure thing?”

“Pretty much, but we have to act quickly.”

On the other end of the phone, Sam Wilson sighed.

“I’m kinda busy right now, Steve. Some of us actually have real work to be getting on with.”

“Aw c’mon, Sam,” Steve replied desperately. “You’re my wingman. Whatever I get paid for this, you get half of, I swear.”

Sam was silent for a moment, as if he was thinking.

“Alright,” he replied, resigned. “I can slip away for a while, but you better tell me everything the second I meet you.”

“I swear,” Steve promised.

He promised to text Sam with a time and place once he knew where he was going to be, and stashed his phone back in his pocket before walking back to his room.

 

****

 

The shower was hot and wonderful, bringing Bucky back to his senses finally. He couldn’t believe he’d been out all night. Everybody at the Embassy must have been going crazy – there was no way they hadn’t noticed his absence by now, and they must have been going out of their minds looking for him.

Bucky couldn’t remember anything after climbing into the delivery vehicle the night before. In hindsight, it had been stupid to abscond with a sedative in his system but he honestly hadn’t expected it to kick in so fast or be so potent.  Next thing he’d known, he was waking up to find a particularly gorgeous, tall, broad, and blond guy smiling at him. There were worse ways to wake up, he guessed.

Thank fuck for Steve Rogers. Bucky might have been rotting in a jail cell right now if it hadn’t been for the kindness of a random stranger, and luckily for him, a fellow American. He’d brought Bucky home and given him a bed to sleep in and taken care of him – Bucky would probably be forever grateful. There were any number of people out there who could have taken advantage of him in his vulnerable drugged state.

He dried himself on the towel that Steve had left for him and pulled on his clothes that were sitting in a pile at the foot of Steve’s bed. There were blankets and a pillow bundled up on the couch, and Bucky guessed that was where Steve had slept since his bed had been occupied. He wasn’t in the room, and Bucky knew he couldn’t leave without thanking him, so he opened the balcony door and went outside.

It was a great view – the apartment was situated at the top of a hill and you could see half of Rome from up there. Leaning over the railing, Bucky looked out at the people below and at the rooftops and balconies on the other surrounding apartments. The air smelled of herbs and lemons, and the sun was delightfully warm as it shone down on him. Bucky wished he could stay here instead of going back to face the wrath of his father and Mr Pierce.

“There you are!”

Bucky turned to find Steve walking out of the balcony doors, and smiled at him. He’d been a little preoccupied earlier with trying to figure out where he was and how he’d got there to notice how ridiculously good-looking Steve was, but outside in the light, it was all Bucky could do not to stare.

“I was looking at all the people out here. It must be fun to live in a place like this.”

Steve followed Bucky’s gaze and grinned as he leaned on the railing.

“Yeah, it has its moments. I can give you a running commentary on each apartment.”

Bucky laughed once before straightening up and turning to him, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“I really have to go,” he murmured. “I only waited to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Steve replied in surprise. “But we've only just met. How about I treat you to some breakfast? Or lunch, as the case may be.”

Bucky smiled sadly. Steve was really a great guy.

“I'm sorry, I haven't got time.”

Steve cocked his head to the side and peered at him.

“Must be pretty important to run off without eating.”

“It is.”

Nodding slowly, Steve pushed himself up from the railing and ushered Bucky back inside.

“Well, I'll go along with you, wherever you are going.”

Bucky grinned at him.

“That's alright, thanks. I think I can find the place. Thanks for letting me sleep in your bed, though.”

“Oh, that's okay - think nothing of it.”

“It was real nice of ya,” Bucky continued. “You must have been uncomfortable on that couch.”

“No,” Steve replied, with a smile. “I do it all the time.”

Bucky smiled at him beautifully as Steve walked him to the door. The guy had to be six-foot-two, so there was no way he made a habit of crashing on a couch that was obviously too small for his frame. He extended his hand.

“Bye, Steve.”

“See ya, Buck,” Steve replied gently, shaking his hand.

Bucky felt himself glow at the casual use of a nickname, as though Steve were an old friend and they did this all the time. He looked about, unsure of which way he should go from here.

“Go right through there and down all the steps,” Steve said with a grin.

“Thanks.”

He walked in the direction he’d been told, but halfway down the hall he was struck by a thought and turned back quickly, almost running right into Steve. They laughed softly as they took a couple of steps back each.

“Well, small world,” Steve murmured.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied. “I almost forgot, and I hate to ask since you’ve done so much for me already bet can you lend me some money?”

“Oh, yeah; that's right, you didn't have any last night did you?” said Steve, grinning as he dug into the pocket of his jeans. “How much was it that you wanted?”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“Well, I don't know how much I need. How much have you got?”

Steve laughed at him as he counted the array of brightly coloured notes in his hand.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Suppose we just split this fifty-fifty? That’s fifty Euros each.”

“Can you really spare all that?”

Steve shrugged as he handed Bucky the money.

“Sure, if you need it.”

Bucky’s heart just about melted at Steve’s sweet smile. Tall, gorgeous, and incredibly generous – the guy was too good to be real. 

“I'll arrange for it to be sent back to you,” he promised. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Steve replied, smiling at him as Bucky walked away, grinning as he stole a glance over his shoulder for one last look at Steve Rogers.

 

****

 

Five minutes later and Bucky was really wishing he’d taken Steve up on his offer for food. The streets of Rome were busier than he’d anticipated and he had spent his first few minutes dodging traffic as he fought to get to the safety of a street market. The activity around him exciting – Bucky hadn’t had free reign in a big city for years and he was enjoying every second of it.

The market was big and bright and bustling, and Bucky’s stomach rumbled loudly as the smells of the street vendors reached his nose. He knew that he should get back to the embassy as soon as possible – people would be looking for him and he would already be in a world full of trouble. On the other hand, if he was already in so much trouble then why not take his time in getting back? It’s not like walking faster would make it any easier for him once he got back in Pierce’s clutches, so he might as well take the opportunity to enjoy his tiny bit of freedom.

He bought an enormous slice of pizza from a particularly cheerful man and ate it hungrily as he walked. Bucky had thought that no pizza in the world could taste quite as good as New York pizza, but he was wrong – the slice was the best he’d ever had, laden with fresh mascarpone and spinach and just the right thickness of crust. Next, he bought a crisp apple from another vendor and took a slow stroll past flower stalls and book sellers and people selling nick-naks and souvenirs. Bucky sighed happily as his eyes took everything in.

The Trevi Fountain was just beyond the street market; a magnificent facade ornamented with statues, fronted by a pool.  Bucky had only seen pictures of it and it hadn’t been a scheduled stop on his regimented trip to Rome, so he took a moment to squeeze through the crowd and lean over to dip his hand into the fountain, letting the green-blue water flow between his fingers and he gazed upon the scene of the ‘Taming of the Waters’. People were throwing coins into the fountain and Bucky fished out a couple of Euro and turned his back, throwing the coin over his left shoulder with his right hand and grinning when he heard it splash.

After a while, he knew he had to move and keep going, so he made his way back through the crowd and down the street, looking at the store fronts and shops as he walked until he stopped abruptly in front of a barber. Bucky looked at his reflection in the window. There wasn’t anything wrong with it really – his shirt was open at the neck and slightly crinkled but not in too bad a condition, his tie stowed safely in his pocket. His hair though, was much the same as it had ever been – the smart, slicked-back style preferred by the rich kids of the Upper East Side. Bucky hated it. As usual, it had been a hairstyle chosen for him by the people who ran his life, made to look respectable and smart. Pierce would absolutely lose his mind if Bucky ever did anything to ruin the effect.

That was probably the thought that sent him walking through the door in the first place. Three years and Bucky had been a Good Boy, always doing as he was told and accepting the authority others had over him. Now, with no Pierce around to give him that disapproving stare, Bucky felt confident in his little rebellion.

He just wished his Italian had been better.

“Uh...shorter?” Bucky said to his barber, sitting with the gown wrapped around his shoulders and the moustachioed man running his fingers through the top lengths of Bucky’s dark hair. “Uh...Breve?  Moderno? Spillo?”

“Ah, si...si,” the barber replied, nodding as he took out his comb and scissors and got to work.

Bucky practically held his breath the whole time, head giving a slight nod as the barber stopped to confirm the length before snipping. He watched his dark hair fall onto his shoulders with a mixture of apprehension and excitement, hoping that his Italian had been good enough to get his point across. Fifteen minutes later, the barber was scrunching a matte wax into Bucky’s hair, and Bucky could not have been happier with the result.

“Grazie,” he said, beaming as he handed over twelve Euros for his cut and practically skipped out of the barber’s.

He happily checked his reflection in the window again, teasing the top of his hair just a little before moving on. Pierce was definitely going to flip, but for once in his life, Bucky looked like a regular teenager and Pierce could suck it.

Bucky made his way down the street to the Spanish Steps, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up as he walked and stashing the expensive silver cufflinks in his pocket. One didn’t often roll up the sleeves on Gucci, but Bucky was getting past the point of caring – it was warm for the middle of March and Bucky was prioritising comfort over fashion.

He stopped to buy gelato from an ice cream van and made his way to the steps, sitting down on one of the ornamentations dividing the width of the steps, and watched the people walk past as he ate. Despite the amount of shit he was in the second he got back, this was actually shaping up to be a pretty nice birthday.

 

****

 

Steve had followed the kid the whole time, camera in hand, ducking out of sight and snapping pictures of James Buchanan Barnes as he made his way through the Roman street market. Bucky was pretty photogenic if Steve was honest with himself – the kid’s smile and expression were so genuinely full of joy that Steve couldn’t help but grin as he looked through them while he waited by the Trivi fountain for Bucky to come out of the barber’s.

He had been disappointed when his attempts to get Bucky to stay with him for a while hadn’t worked, and Steve honestly thought he’d been busted when he’d ran into the kid on the stairs in his apartment building, but thankfully Bucky had remained oblivious to Steve’s stalking. Steve didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d followed Bucky through Rome. Three years ago, the son of the President had been splashed all over the news – there had been a minor sex scandal that had involved one of his boarding school teachers, and then drugs, and then, as far as Steve remembered, some kind of accidental overdose before his parents had removed him from the public eye completely.

Until now, it was common knowledge that James Barnes had been living in Vermont with a personal tutor but now that he was nearing college age, his parents were starting to let him out of confinement. Steve had been expecting a bad boy with an attitude, but here he was tailing a sweet, polite kid who only seemed interested in pizza and ice cream. The most scandalous thing Bucky Barnes had done thus far was get his hair cut – that was if you excluded spending the night in Steve’s bed.

He ducked out of sight again as Bucky re-emerged from the barber shop and bought a gelato, and as Bucky sat down on the Spanish Steps, Steve made his move. Running up the opposite side, out of view, he walked across the width of the steps, behind Bucky and down towards him, looking around him innocently.

“Weeell,” he said in surprise, stopping a couple of steps below the kid and acting like he’d only just spotted him. “It's you!”

“Steve!” Bucky replied, looking up from his ice cream and beaming happily.

Steve made a show of peering at Bucky’s freshly cut hair.

“So that was your mysterious appointment?”

Bucky’s free hand flew self-consciously to his hair.

“Do you like it?” he asked, fluffing the back with his fingers.

“Yeah,” Steve replied honestly as he sat down next to Bucky on the steps. “It suits you.”

Bucky Barnes bit his lip as he smiled and glanced away, giving his gelato a bashful lick.

“I have a confession to make,” Bucky said quietly as he turned back.

“Confession?” Steve asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bucky bit his lip again.

“Yeah...I...kinda ran away last night. From...my handler.”

“Handler?” Steve repeated with a laugh. “What, are you some kind of spy?”

Bucky grinned at him.

“I wish it was that exciting,” he replied. “Unfortunately, I just have parents who are too busy to deal with me, so they pay somebody else to do it.”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly.

“Well, he’s not doing his job properly,” he murmured. “What happened? Was he giving you trouble?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“Well, you don't just run away for nothing.”

Bucky looked at his feet and shrugged.

“It was only meant to be for an hour or two. My life isn’t really my own and I was getting pretty upset at the schedule they wanted me to stick to today...they gave me something last night to make me sleep.”

Suddenly everything clicked into place for Steve. Bucky hadn’t been drunk when Steve picked him up off the street – he’d been under sedation.

“I see,” he murmured.

“It’s my birthday today,” Bucky continued. “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to spend my eighteenth doing stuff I wanted to do, so I thought if I could sneak out just for a little while and be back before morning...”

“Wait,” Steve interrupted. “It’s your eighteenth birthday today?”

Bucky nodded.

“Yeah, and I’m going to be in so much trouble so I'd better get a taxi and go back.”

“Are you kidding me?” Steve said. “You don’t turn eighteen every day, Buck. If you’re just going to be cooped up for the rest of it and getting an earful, why don't you take a little time for yourself?”

Bucky looked at him, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth as he considered it.

“Maybe another hour?”

“Live dangerously,” Steve replied enthusiastically. “Take the whole day!”

Bucky laughed, as if that was something he’d never even entertained.

“I could do some of the things I've always wanted to,” the kid mused.

“Like what? “

“I dunno,” Bucky replied grinning. “I'd go exploring. I’d do little things that I never get to normally do without somebody breathing down my neck and disapproving of my conduct.”

“You mean like having your hair cut? Eating gelato?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed enthusiastically, “and I'd sit outside of Starbucks and drink frozen coffee from a plastic cup with a straw! Have fun, and maybe some excitement. It probably seems dumb and childish to somebody like you.”

Steve smiled at him. This was definitely not the boy he’d expected but he could make this work.

“It's great. Tell you what: why don't we do all those things together?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow.

“Don't you have to work?”

“Work?” Steve replied, standing up.”No! Today's gonna be a holiday!

“But you won’t want to do a lot of silly things,” Bucky said playfully, blue-grey eyes twinkling as he looked up at Steve.

“I wouldn’t?” replied Steve, offering his hand to Bucky and pulling him up. “First wish: one frozen birthday coffee, coming right up!”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the first couple of chapters, I stuck pretty close to the original movie script both in dialogue and in plot, however there are several things in the movie that don't translate well at all in a modern AU, so it's starting to look a little more original from here on.

Steve couldn’t fulfil the Starbucks wish, given the general lack of the franchise in Rome, but Bucky was happy enough to settle for Rocca’s – a little sidewalk cafe with tables in the sun. He ordered Caffè Shakerato for both of them and they sat at a table in the sun, Bucky fiddling with a straw while they waited for their coffee.

“What'll your people say when they see your new haircut?” Steve asked.

Bucky laughed and ran his hand over it gently.

“They'll have a fit,” he replied with a playful grin, “but they’d probably die if they knew I'd spent the night in your room.”

Steve grinned back and leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially.

“Well, uh...I'll tell you what: you don't tell your folks and I won't tell mine.”

“Deal,” Bucky murmured, tearing the paper end off the straw cover and flicking it across the table with a giggle.

The kid was incredibly cute, seemingly overjoyed at just being able to sit outside at a cafe. Steve couldn’t help but wonder how isolated Bucky had been over the past few years for something like this to me the most exciting activity he’d done in a while.

“So, you’re a photographer?” Bucky asked, motioning towards the camera Steve had in his lap.

Steve Rogers was actually a pretty rotten liar. He could lie if he had to but he really tried to avoid it as much as possible, and so far he hadn’t actually outright lied to Bucky. He had concealed, but not lied and so he decided that he should probably stick as closely to the truth here as he possibly could. There was less risk of being caught out that way.

“Yeah,” he replied, setting his camera gently on the table. “I just graduated from college last year, so I’m pretty much freelance at the moment – just picking up jobs wherever I can.”

Including SHIELD Press, but letting slip that he had a contract with them would be suicide right now.

“That sounds great,” Bucky said dreamily. “A freelance photographer – going wherever you wanna go, just making your living by taking pictures.”

Steve laughed at him.

“It isn’t nearly as romantic as it sounds,” he told Bucky. “I had so many ideals when I finished college and already most of them have been stripped away.”

“How so?”

Bucky leaned forward, elbows resting on the table and chin in hands, watching Steve attentively. Steve sighed.

“In order to make money, you’ve gotta take pictures that people want to buy,” he explained, leaning forward in his seat. “I can take all the pictures of beautiful sunsets that I want but it ain’t gonna pay my bills. On the other hand, I want to take pictures that matter – I want my work to make people sit up and take notice. I want to photograph the living conditions of Syrian refuges; I want to document the atrocities happening in Gaza; I want to be there on the front lines of current American civil rights protests, taking the pictures that tell the story of what is really going on right now and what life is really like. Those are the pictures that change the world and I want to be the one to take them...”

He trailed off as he noticed Bucky’s smile.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bucky replied with a small shake of his head. “It’s just...I like the way you look when you’re talking about something you’re passionate about. It’s genuine. I spend my life around people who fake everything from their smile to public policy. It’s nice to be around somebody that’s real, y’know?”

Steve felt the colour rise in his cheeks and he glanced away, guiltily.

“Yeah well, don’t be too enamoured,” he muttered. “I’m nowhere near that level yet – I’m hard up so I take whatever job I can get.”

Bucky’s smile just widened and Steve was more than a little relieved when the waiter arrived with their coffees and two tiny glasses of limoncello. Happily, Bucky put his straw in his mouth, blew off the wrapper, and laughed softly and the paper fluttered to the floor as Bucky popped the straw into his cold coffee. Steve couldn’t help but smile at him.

“What about you?” he asked as Bucky slurped at his coffee.

“Oh, you don’t want to know about me,” Bucky replied with a light air of dismissal.

“Why not?”

“I’m not interesting.”

Steve laughed gently.

“I beg to differ,” he replied. “You’re apparently not a spy but you have a handler, and you ran away while under sedation to spend the night in my bed...”

Bucky ducked his head slightly and blushed.

“I think you’re very interesting,” Steve finished.

Looking up at Steve through long dark eyelashes, Bucky took a contemplative sip of coffee through his straw before replying.

“My parents are influential people,” he began, slowly. “Their careers pretty much ride on their public image and, by extension, my public image. A couple of years ago, I made friends with the wrong people – there was pressure on me from my parents to be a perfect kid with perfect grades, and I had pressure to fit in with the people I thought were my friends...and then I got involved with somebody I really shouldn’t have. Turns out nobody really gave a crap about me, only what they could get from me...and it all got too much, I guess.”

Bucky gave him a sad smile and shrugged.

“I’m better now though. My parents took me out of school and I don’t have any contact with the people who were bad for me, it’s just that sometimes I wish they’d trust me more with my own life. It’s my own fault.”

“No, it’s not,” Steve replied softly, reaching over to give Bucky’s hand a gentle squeeze.

It had been all over the media of course – Steve knew all about fifteen year old James Buchanan Barnes going off the rails, and the drugs and the sex scandal, but this? This was just a lonely kid who regretted the decisions he’d made at a rough time in his life, and Steve was just another person looking to take advantage of that. He was no better than all those people who’d pretended to be Bucky’s friend just so that they could get something from him.

Bucky’s smile brightened as he squeezed back.

“You’re a real nice guy, Steve.”

“You only think that because you don’t know me,” Steve replied with a wry smile.

He was pretty much ready to give up on the story when he looked up from Bucky’s hand only to see Sam Wilson weaving through the dining crowd and waving at him. Steve had pretty much completely forgotten that he’d called Sam about this in the first place. Dropping Bucky’s hand, Steve stood up and hailed his friend.

“Sam! Hey!”

Sam grinned as he approached the table, his eyes darting to Bucky who was looking at him with wide, innocent blue eyes while drinking his coffee through the straw.

“Hey,” Sam replied. “Could you have picked a busier place?”

Steve grinned. Rocca’s was pretty popular due to its proximity to the Trevi fountain, but it was worth it for the good coffee.

“Maybe,” he joked, pulling a chair out for Sam to sit, “but somehow you still managed to find me.”

Sam chuckled lightly as he sat down opposite Steve and looked at Bucky again who was sitting to his right, still quietly sipping his coffee.

“Are you going to introduce us, Rogers?” Sam asked, keen brown eyes studying Bucky’s face.

“Oh, yeah...Bucky, this is my very good friend Sam Wilson. Sam, this is Bucky.”

Dropping his straw and extending his hand with a beautiful smile that could make anybody feel the need to catch their breath, Bucky turned to Sam.

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, politely.

Sam grinned.

“You too...”

Now, Sam Wilson was a smart man and his brain was already starting to kick into gear with regards to the smiling teenager sitting at their table. Steve was beginning to think he should have possibly explained some things to Sam over text before he arrived.

“Say,” Sam said, eyes narrowing slightly as he learned towards Bucky slightly. “Did you know, if it wasn’t for the hair I’d say you look ju...”

Steve swiftly knocked over his small glass of limoncello, the bright yellow liqueur spilling across the table and down onto Sam’s pants. His friend yelped in shock and jumped up, knocking his chair backwards with a clatter and causing people to look up from their tables.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

“Sorry, Sam!” Steve said apologetically, grabbing a handful of paper napkins from the table dispenser and standing up. “Glass was closer to my hand than I thought.”

“These are my favourite pants!” groaned Sam in dismay, swiping the napkins up and dabbing frantically at the wet patch on his leg.

“C’mon, I’ll help you clean up,” Steve said. “Bucky, please excuse us for a second.”

“Of course,” Bucky replied, looking slightly bewildered as Steve steered Sam indoors.

Once inside Rocca’s, Steve dragged Sam into the tiny bathroom locking the door behind them.

“What the hell do you think you doing?” he hissed. “You nearly spilled the whole thing!”

“Spilled?” Sam replied, briefly ceasing the dabbing of his pants to look at Steve with disbelief. “You were the one doing the spilling! God damn liqueur all over my favourite pants!”

“That’s James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve whispered.

Sam stopped dead.

“Are you shitting me?”

“Most definitely not.”

Sam looked at him for a second before throwing the damp napkins in the bin and giving Steve his full attention.

“Tell me,” he said.

Steve gave him the whole tale - about coming across Bucky half asleep in the street and taking him home so the police wouldn’t pick the kid up; about seeing Bucky’s picture in Fury’s office and putting two and two together; about following Bucky through Rome and ending up with him here.

“But Sam, I...I don’t think it’s a good idea anymore.”

“What?” Sam replied, annoyed. “You called ME! You dragged me out of work, away from a story I was already writing, and now you’re having second thoughts?”

“He’s not the kid the media painted him to be, Sam,” Steve said desperately. “He’s sweet...I could probably go as far as to say that he’s kinda innocent...”

Sam scoffed.

“My ass! Steve, he was caught giving a teacher a blow job and he OD’d on cocaine at fifteen – he’s your typical rich Upper East Side kid who parties too hard and gives no shit about the consequences. He’s already up to his old tricks again with running away from home – he probably took the sedatives himself as some kind of high and he’s just trying to cover his tracks and gain sympathy from you.”

Steve’s mouth twisted in distaste. Sam had a point, as much as Steve wanted to believe Bucky had been entirely truthful with him. He was torn – if Sam was right and Bucky was only playing sweet, then Steve was about to give up an awful lot of money, but if Bucky was genuine then Steve was about to ruin the kid’s life all over again. He looked at Sam desperately.

Sam sighed.

“C’mon Steve,” he said. “Barnes is the First Son. He’s practically royalty – it’s always open season on royalty. Think of the money. I don’t for a minute think you’re rich enough to do without it.”

Steve thought of the fifty euros sitting in his wallet that would have to last him an indefinite amount of time until his next paid job. He’d be living on instant noodles and cheap coffee for weeks if he let this go.

“Fine,” he said, resigned. “But listen, I’m not going to do anything that encourages scandal, okay? If he does that on his own, then fair enough, but I suggest we be passive in this – follow his lead and we report on whatever happens. If it turns out that he’s the wild delinquent you think then fine, but I believe in him.”

“People like that don’t change, Steve,” Sam replied seriously.

“I hope to prove you wrong,” Steve said.

Sam grinned at him.

“Okay, it’s a deal.”

They shook on it and moments later they re-emerged from the small bathroom and made their way back to the table and a concerned Bucky.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, nervously stirring his coffee with his straw.

Steve smiled at him.

“Yeah, it’s fine. Sam’s pants seem to have survived.”

“No thanks to Captain Clumsy,” added Sam as he sat back down.

Bucky giggled and Steve took a deep breath as he reminded himself that he and Sam were only here to observe and record. If Bucky really was as sweet as he seemed, then the pair of journalists wouldn’t collect any incriminating evidence and they would sell whatever story they got.

“So,” Steve said, sitting back down at the table and taking a brief sip of his coffee. “Should we make out a schedule?”

Bucky grimaced.

“Oh God, please not that word.”

“Itinerary?” Sam suggested, but Bucky seemed just as unimpressed by that word as he had the first.

Poor kid probably lived by regimented schedules.

“How about we just go?” Steve said. “Just take a walk and see where we end up?”

“We could rent Vespas?” Sam interjected. “It’s a pretty good way to see the city.”

Bucky smiled at them both.

“That sounds great,” he agreed.

“Drink up then, and we’ll get started,” said Sam.

Bucky slurped up the rest of his coffee and gently pushed his small glass of limoncello over to Steve.

“Do you want that?”

Steve opened his mouth to accept, since he’d spilled his own liqueur all over Sam, but his friend interrupted before he got a word out.

“Don’t you want it yourself?” Sam asked him innocently.

“I’m only eighteen,” Bucky replied with a shrug.

“Legal drinking age in Italy is sixteen,” Sam informed him. “You wouldn’t be doing anything wrong if you had it yourself.”

Steve shot Sam a warning look and Sam shrugged gently. Bucky looked at his glass, unsure.

“Don’t drink it if you don’t want to,” Steve said.

“No, I might as well give it a try,” Bucky replied cheerfully, picking it up and peering curiously at the bright yellow liquid.

Sam nodded towards Steve’s camera while Bucky was distracted, but Steve shook his head firmly – as far as he was concerned, this was coercion and he’d have no part on it. Sam rolled his eyes impatiently at Steve before turning back to Bucky who was just knocking back the entire glass of limoncello like he was doing a shot. Sam started to laugh as Bucky spluttered and his eyes began to water.

“Jesus H Christ!” he choked, patting his chest. “That’s so strong!”

“That’s because you’re supposed to sip it,” replied Steve with a grin.

Bucky coughed gently and shook his head.

“I am never doing that again.”

Steve looked up and gave Sam a smug grin. Sam looked slightly disappointed.

“Fair enough,” Steve said. “Let’s get going.”

He tossed some money on the table to cover their drinks and then Steve, Sam, and Bucky took off down the street to find some scooters to rent. Since Steve was exceptionally hard up, Sam was definitely going to have to foot the bill for that one – it was technically all Steve’s money anyway from the card game the night before.

Looking around quickly to grasp his bearings, Steve grinned as he reached back and took Bucky’s hand.

“Hey, come with me,” he said, giving Sam a wink as he led Bucky across the road to a small, dark building.

“You’re not gonna try and mug me are ya?” joked Bucky. “Because I’m totally broke.”

Sam laughed and Steve grinned as they walked inside and up to a large stone carving of a face in the wall.”

“The Mouth of Truth,” Sam announced.

“The legend is that if you're given to lying, you put your hand in there,” Steve said, pointing the carving’s mouth, “it’ll be bitten off.”

Bucky laughed, flinching a little.

“That sounds perfectly horrible.”

“Let's see you do it,” replied Sam with a wink.

Bucky glanced at him, looking slightly concerned and for a moment, Steve was sure Bucky wouldn’t do it. Then, resolved but tentative, he put his hand towards the mouth, closer and closer, fingers just making it past the mouth before pulling his hand back with a giggle.

“Okay, let's see you do it,” he said to Steve.

It was Steve’s turn to be slightly concerned. It was a big stone face – there was no truth at all that it would bite your hand off if you were lying and besides, Steve wasn’t exactly lying. It was more an omission of truth than anything else, and Steve wasn’t usually one to give in to superstition.

“Sure.”

Steve took a step forward, moving his hand onto the lip of the mouth, slid his fingers inside, and then his hand up to the wrist. Stuck with a particularly wicked idea, Steve suddenly gave a loud cry of shock and pain, pulling back as if the mouth had hold of his hand and wouldn't let go. The look of Bucky’s face was priceless as he half-screamed and rushed to help, pulling at Steve from behind. Steve was still yelling as he took his hand out of the mouth and clutched his arm to his chest, hiding his hand so it would appear severed at the wrist.

“Steve!” Bucky cried, looking panicked as he tried to grab hold to survey the damage.

Steve couldn’t keep it up any longer, bursting out laughing as he let his hand spring open and gently waved it. Bucky’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“You asshole!” he yelled as Sam burst into fits of laughter behind them.

Bucky launched himself at Steve, laughing as he gently slapped Steve’s chest with his open hands.

“You totally had me! I thought it ate your hand.”

“I'm sorry,” Steve grinned, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s back and holding him tightly for a second. “It was just a joke! Alright?”

“You've never hurt your hand,” Bucky giggled as his hands stopped beating and he slid them around Steve’s waist, hugging him back.

“I'm sorry,” Steve murmured into Bucky’s fluffy dark hair. “I'm sorry. Ok?”

Bucky hung onto him for a few more seconds and Steve smiled.  He hadn’t expected Bucky to react quite so much to the joke and part of him felt bad about scaring him. The other part of him thought it may have been the most adorable thing he’d ever seen in his life, and he would have been quite happy to stay there with Bucky wrapped up in his arms for the rest of the day until he looked up and caught Sam’s eyes. His friend raised his eyebrows questioningly and Steve could do nothing but give him a casual shrug in response.

“I’m good,” Bucky murmured, finally regaining his composure.

“Alright,” Steve replied, finally releasing a grinning Bucky. “Let's go.”

Bucky giggled as he turned and ran from the building and Steve couldn’t stop himself from grinning.

“What the hell was that all about?” Sam asked quietly as they followed Bucky out.

“What?”

“You know what,” replied Sam impatiently.

Steve shrugged again.

“Nothing,” he answered. “Just a little bit of harmless fun.”

Sam raised his eyebrows again.

“Uh huh,” he replied dryly. “Sure.”

He sauntered past Steve to where Bucky was waiting for them in the sun, shading his eyes from the brilliant light and smiling. Steve pointedly ignored his heart as it started to beat a little quicker than before.

 

****

 

This was honestly the best birthday Bucky Barnes had ever had in his life. Steve and Sam were so accommodating, taking him to all the places he’d read about in his guide book before he’d arrived in Rome and never had the chance to see.

He rode behind Steve on his Vespa, arms around his waist and chin resting on Steve’s broad shoulder. Steve was warm and solid, and being near him made Bucky feel so safe and secure in a way that his secret service agent never had. It felt incredible, wind in his hair and rippling his clothes as they drove through the streets of Rome, weaving in and out of traffic with Sam leading the way.

Their first stop had been the coliseum, and Steve had immediately occupied himself with taking pictures of the ruins as Bucky listened to their tour guide and gazed around him. He was fascinated by it all, the whole bloody history and the mechanics of trap doors and secret tunnels that had been concealed under the floor. It was so much more interesting than touring a small car manufacturer.  He turned and spotted Steve, snapping a shot of something over Bucky’s shoulder, and he grinned as Steve smiled at him and waved. Bucky couldn’t believe his luck in meeting this man.

“Where to next?” Steve asked an hour later as they climbed back onto their scooters.

“I dunno,” replied Bucky as he sat up behind Steve and wrapped his arms around his waist again.

“Well, it’s your birthday,” Sam said cheerfully. “It’s up to you.”

Bucky thought for a moment, pulling up as much of the information that he could remember from the tour guide.

“Maybe a couple of the churches?” he suggested. “Or museums? I like museums.”

“There’s Castel Sant’Angelo on the river,” replied Steve. “It’s got a pretty rich history and some great exhibits to look at.”

“Plus, the view from the upper terraces are pretty amazing,” Sam added.

Bucky agreed that Castel Sant’Angelo did indeed sound like a great idea. He would have loved to see the Vatican, but there honestly just wasn’t the time to see much of what he’d love to look at there. Maybe he could come back in the future when he was no longer under somebody else’s control and had lots of time to dedicate to viewing the Vatican’s art work and sculptures.

“Can we stop for some water first though?” he asked. “That limoncello really did a number on me earlier.”

Steve laughed at him.

“Sure we can.”

Bucky snuggled in close to Steve’s back as the scooters took off again, making their way from the coliseum to the river. A couple of minutes later they stopped again and Steve handed his camera to Sam for safe-keeping as he jumped off the scooter and ran to a street vendor for a couple of bottles of water.

He’d never driven a scooter before. Bucky didn’t even have a licence to drive a car back home in the US, his parents having decided that it was too much responsibility for him. Not that he needed to drive himself anywhere because his parents supplied him with a chauffeur, but it didn’t stop him from being curious about the whole thing.

Shuffling forward on the Vespa, Bucky gently gripped the handlebars just to test out the feel of it. It hadn’t looked that difficult when Steve and Sam did it, so surely somebody like Bucky could manage it. He gingerly tested the controls and let out a shriek as the scooter lurched forward and almost threw Bucky from his seat.

“STEVE!” he yelled, throwing a quick glance over his shoulder to find Steve already running towards him, two bottles of water in one hand. “HELP ME!”

“Hang on!” Steve yelled back.

The scooter weaved erratically along the road as Steve sprinted to catch up.

“Sorry!” Bucky called as a couple of pedestrians jumped back as he almost hit the pavement.

At least he wasn’t going too fast, even if he didn’t know how to stop. He laughed as he felt the scooter dip and Steve jumped on the back, covering Bucky’s hands with his own.

“You alright?” Steve asked, breathless.

“This is awesome,” Bucky giggled in reply, adjusting his grip under the weight of Steve’s hands and squealing loudly when the scooter suddenly accelerated.

“Let me take over,” Steve said in his ear.

“I’m okay,” Bucky replied with a laugh as he moved his hands from under Steve’s and placed them on top again. “I got this!”

Bucky felt Steve bury his face into his shoulder as the scooter drove head-on into the traffic, delicately missing a collision with a bicycle and a car that swerved to avoid them, and honked as they drove across its path. Bucky mounted the pavement as he tried to get out of their way, driving between some people at a stall and straight through a sidewalk cafe, weaving between the tables as the diners get up, outraged at the disturbance. Bucky drove chaotically around a roundabout, scaring a woman who screamed and jumped out of the way, dropping her groceries.  A police car pulled out of a side street and screeched after them as they tore away down the street, their sirens blaring. 

“Shit! Steve, it’s the cops!” Bucky wailed.

“Well, it doesn’t really surprise me,” Steve replied, looking back over his shoulder.

He couldn’t get picked up by the cops. Despite having absolutely no form of ID on his person, his parents would actually kill him if Bucky spent any time at all in a jail cell. He’d never be free of Pierce and his dreaded schedules.

“Don’t let them take me, Steve!”

Behind him, Steve laughed and moved his hands so they were on top of Bucky’s again.

“Leave it to me.”

Bucky held on tight as Steve steered the Vespa through two barriers and down a pedestrian-only street, away from the Polizia. Halfway down, Steve swerved and drove the scooter down a set of steps into a dark alcove and cut the engine.

“What the...?”

“Shhhh!”

Steve whispered, snaking an arm around Bucky’s waist and placing a hand gently across his mouth as the sound of several pairs of heavy boots raced by on the street above them.

It was strangely wonderful and exhilarating, hiding from the police in the dark with Steve’s warm, solid body pressed against his back. Bucky could feel his blood racing through his veins, heat rising to his face as the steady beat of Steve’s heard thudded against his back. He could smell Steve’s cologne; heady sandalwood wrapping around Bucky’s brain and making him breathe fast.

After a moment, the sound of the Polizia faded away and Steve’s hand dropped from Bucky’s mouth to rest on his shoulder.

“You okay?” Steve murmured.

Bucky nodded, turning slightly on the scooter to face him. Steve Rogers was entirely beautiful close up; light blue eyes framed by impossibly long lashes, pale dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. They were so close, their lips were almost touching. Bucky wasn’t sure he was breathing any more.

It was Steve that moved first, drawing back with pink cheeks and a gentle laugh.

“We should get out of here before they come back,” Steve said quietly.

Bucky managed to nod.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “And we lost Sam. We should find Sam.”

“Right. Sam.”

They looked at each other for a second longer, Steve’s eyes darting to Bucky’s lips before he finally looked away and started the Vespa up again.

 

****

 

“What the hell happened to you two?” Sam asked, bewildered as Steve and Bucky returned to where they had left him half an hour earlier.

“Well, Bucky kinda wrecked half of Rome and we had to hide from the police for a little while,” Steve replied cheerfully.

“It wasn’t entirely my fault,” Bucky chipped in with a bashful smile. “The Vespa sorta ran away with me.”

Steve laughed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He had no idea what had happened to him back in that dark alcove, hiding from the police with Bucky in the dark.

It had been a confusing afternoon for Steve Rogers. When Sam had met him at Rocca’s earlier, Steve had been ready to drop the story on Bucky but Sam had convinced him to stick with it. So far, Bucky hadn’t tried to buy drugs or purchase the services of an Italian prostitute, and had even sworn off alcohol since unwittingly swallowing an entire glass of limoncello in one go. He had been a perfectly regular person, just wanting to take in the sights like all the other tourists that had come to Rome and Steve was feeling just awful about thinking bad of him.

Bucky Barnes was the sweetest kid Steve had ever met – he was fun and daring and adventurous and brave; his laugh was infectious and he had a profile that Steve could stare at all day. It had been coming on slowly, ever since Bucky had woken up – this feeling that Steve had at first mistaken for amusement and admiration for the way the kid handled himself, but he was starting to realise that it was a little more than that. Being with Bucky on the back of that runaway scooter, Steve had never felt more alive. Nose pressed into Bucky’s shirt, Steve had grown dizzy on the scent of clean skin and the faint fruity scent of the product Bucky had in his hair from his trip to the barber. His heart had beat fast when Bucky’s body pressed back into his as they’d hidden in the dark from the Polizia, and somehow it had seemed so natural to lean in for a kiss when Bucky had turned to face him.

Except Steve hadn’t kissed him, and that’s probably what was making him feel so on edge – the fact that they’d been so close and Steve had thought about it, had wanted to so badly, and then chickened out. Steve shouldn’t have wanted to kiss him but he had, and what had been so light and easy between them before was now heavier and tense.

“Let’s get off the street then,” said Sam with a good-natured roll of his eyes. “It won’t do for you two to get arrested!”

Steve laughed.

“Castel Sant’Angelo it is then!”


	4. Chapter 4

Castel Sant’Angelo was always a beautiful sight in the fading light of day. It was early evening by the time Sam, Steve, and Bucky pulled up to the old Papal residence and parked up their Vespas. Steve was still reeling from that almost-kiss with Bucky earlier and he was unusually quiet as he followed him across the bridge, letting Sam take the lead this time as Steve hung back with his thoughts for company.

He liked Bucky more than he should. From the moment they met it was like Steve had been drawn to him...but Bucky was the son of the President of the United States, and boys like him didn’t date broke photojournalists like Steven Grant Rogers. This had to remain as business, as just a story, but as Bucky glanced back over his shoulder and gave Steve a beautiful, beaming smile, he knew he was just kidding himself.

“Once the tallest building in Rome,” Sam said, reading dramatically from the information leaflet they had purchased with their €8 entry fee, “Castel Sant’Angelo was originally built as a mausoleum for Emperor Hadrian, but in its history it’s been used as a prison, fortress, and a papal residence, and now as a museum.”

Bucky giggled, reading the leaflet over Sam’s shoulder as they walked.

“It’s all pretty fascinating,” the kid replied.  “Is there literally any place in this city that isn’t steeped in blood?”

“Not really,” Sam replied jovially. “Rome has one of the most grisly histories in the world.”

Behind them, Steve cleared his throat in an attempt to rejoin the conversation.

“I think the Castel was featured in a Puccini opera,” he said. “Somebody threw themselves off the terrace at the end.”

Bucky turned around and grinned at him.

“It’s _Tosca_ ,” he replied softly.

Steve couldn’t help but smile back.

“Are you sure? Last night you argued that _Arethusa_ was Keats.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up and Steve pointedly ignored him by taking a photograph of the statue of the Archangel Michael. Bucky giggled at him again and Steve’s stomach fluttered – he was beginning to utterly adore that sound.

“My Aunt has Met season tickets,” Bucky replied. “She’s a huge opera fan. If I didn’t know that scene was from Puccini’s _Tosca_ , she’d probably disown me.”

“Good to know it’s just your literary knowledge that’s shoddy,” Steve joked.

They had arrived at the Castel only an hour from closing time, so there wasn’t a great deal of time to look around or take in the view from the famous terraces before they had to leave. They had a whirlwind tour of the museum’s eclectic collection of paintings, sculptures, military memorabilia and medieval firearms, and the lavishly decorated Renaissance interiors of the upper floors which Bucky took in with wide, curious eyes. He seemed fascinated with everything he saw, so eager to learn. Steve realised with a pang that Bucky reminded him a lot of himself when he’d first graduated from college – filled with an innocence and a child-like charm that had been stripped away from him once reality stepped in. Steve hoped Bucky would never lose that aspect of his personality like he had.

“Where do you wanna go now?” Sam asked as the museum doors were closed and locked behind them and the three of them began to walk back over the Ponte Sant’Angelo.

Bucky looked beautiful against the evening sky – his profile silhouetted against the backdrop of orange and yellow shot with pink and purple as the sun went down behind the clouds. Steve raised his camera again to catch the moment that Bucky stopped on the bridge and leaned out, gazing at the dark water as it flowed between the arches.

“Is that a private party do you think?” Bucky asked, nodding his head towards a barge tied up on the bank.

Both Steve and Sam joined him to look. The barge was brightly lit and the sound of people talking and laughing floated gently through the evening air, mingled with the live music played by the band.

“We can always find out,” Steve replied, smiling at him.

“Yeah,” agreed Sam. “It’s your birthday – I think you deserve to go to a party.”

Bucky smiled happily at them both and pushed himself up from the bridge, taking off quickly in the direction of the barge and forcing Sam and Steve to walk quickly to catch up.

As it turned out, it wasn’t a private party at all and Sam paid a small entry fee for all three of them. It was full dark when they stepped onto the barge, fairy lights twinkling magically around railings and posts as the band played covers of 1950s songs in Italian as people danced around them. Steve knew he was in deep trouble the second Bucky turned to him with hopeful blue eyes.

“Aw, no,” he said, shaking his head before Bucky had even said a word. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“Please, Steve?” Bucky replied, reaching out to grip Steve’s free hand and giving it a small tug. “Just one?”

“I would if I could,” Steve countered, trying to pull back. “But I’m serious when I say I don’t know how.”

Bucky pouted and Steve’s heart faltered.

“I’ll embarrass you terribly,” he continued with a little less conviction and Bucky’s bottom lip wobbled.

Desperately, Steve turned to Sam but as usual there was no help from his friend on this matter. Sam was laughing behind his hand thoroughly enjoying Steve’s discomfort. Steve had to admit defeat.

“Fine,” he said, turning back to Bucky whose face immediately brightened. “But just the one, okay?”

“Okay,” replied Bucky, tugging on Steve’s hand again as Steve quickly offhanded his camera to Sam and allowed himself to be dragged onto the floor.

Steve had no idea what to do with his hands, eyeing Bucky’s body in panic until the kid took hold of Steve’s wrists and guided his hands to his waist. Steve swallowed audibly as the music changed to a slower song and Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck, smiling at him.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” replied Steve softly.

He was grateful for the slower tempo because it meant that he could just sway from side to side with Bucky’s body pressed close to his. There was only a couple of inches between them and not for the first time that day, Steve was struck by how intensely beautiful Bucky was. He smiled as Bucky shifted his arm and rested his head against Steve’s shoulder with a contented sigh.

“You spent the whole day doing things I've always wanted to,” he murmured. “Why?”

Steve bit his lip guiltily.

“I don't know,” he replied, quietly. “It just seemed the thing to do.”

“I never heard of anybody so kind,” said Bucky, just as softly and Steve was glad Bucky couldn’t see his face.

“It wasn't any trouble.”

“Also completely unselfish.”

Steve’s gut twisted horribly and his feet stopped moving. He felt like the world’s biggest asshole, dancing with this sweet kid who thought the sun shone out of Steve’s behind and all the while he’d been deceiving him. Bucky would never forgive him if he knew about Steve’s real motives at the beginning of the day.

He turned his head away as Bucky looked up at him.

“Why don’t I get us a drink?” Steve said, indicating to the bar with a slight incline of his head.

“Okay,” Bucky replied with a sweet smile. “I’ll just have a soda, please.”

“Sure,” murmured Steve.

He released Bucky’s waist at the same time Bucky’s hands slid down Steve’s arms, their fingers brushing as they stepped away from each other. Bucky giggled and wrapped his fingers around Steve’s for a second before letting them go and stepping backwards. Steve managed a smile before making a hasty retreat towards the bar and Sam.

“Is everything okay?” asked Sam, looking up from Steve’s camera.

Steve held onto the bar and let out a shaky breath.

“I can’t do this,” he replied.

Sam looked up sharply and frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t do this,” Steve repeated. “I can’t keep lyin’ to him, Sam. He’s standin’ over there, thinkin’ that we’re doing this out of the goodness of our hearts and the whole time we were planning on selling pictures and a story on him. It’s not right, I can’t do it.”

Sam stared at him for a long minute and sighed before ordering two glasses of bourbon.

“Steve,” he said gently. “I can’t tell you what to do – it’s your life and you’re a big boy who can make his own decisions but...”

Sam shrugged as their drinks were placed in front of them and Steve knocked his back in one go, relishing the sharp burn of the amber liquid as it slid down his throat and into his belly, the immediate rush reminding him that he hadn’t actually eaten all day. He studied Sam’s serious face and sighed. He was definitely in very serious trouble.

 

****

 

Bucky watched the floor as people danced to an Italian version of Dean Martin’s ‘Aint That a Kick In The Head’ and grinned. He’d never had such a great birthday before in his life. Even when he’d been allowed some freedom, his birthdays had never been about him – they had been about his parents or the people who called themselves his friends; they had been about networking and politics, and never ever about what Bucky had wanted.

This had been perfect – the sights, the dancing...and Steve.

Steve Rogers was incredible. Bucky had never met anybody like him before in his life; a person so sweet and selfless and kind; somebody who made his heart race and his brain cloud up. Bucky didn’t think he could ever tire of being around him.

He sighed happily and leaned against the railing in front of him, completely unaware of being approached until it was too late. Bucky felt the strong hand on his upper arm and started, trying to pull back and panicking as he looked into the face of his own personal secret service agent.

“It’s time to go, Mr Barnes,” Rumlow said in a low voice. “There is a car waiting.”

Bucky looked at him desperately, struggling against the agent’s iron grip. He had no idea how Rumlow had found him but he wasn’t about to give in without a fight.

“No.”

“Come on,” replied Rumlow, forcing Bucky to the side.

“No, please, I don’t want to,” Bucky whined, looking about him wildly. “Let me go. Will you let me go!?”

Bucky was powerless against Brock Rumlow, a seasoned agent with twice Bucky’s strength and he searched desperately for Steve in the crowd.

“Steve!” he shouted. “STEVE!”

His eyes fell finally on Steve by the bar next to Sam. He had his back to Bucky but the second Bucky yelled his name, voice filled with panic, Steve immediately turned around, eyes searching for him in the crowd. Bucky’s heart leapt when Steve realised what was going on and practically sprinted through the dancers to get to him.

“Let me go!” Bucky yelled one more time, twisting in Rumlow’s grasp and digging his heels in as the agent continued dragging him to the exit.

He just needed to hold on a few seconds longer until Steve came to help. Rumlow growled, visibly angry at Bucky’s attempts at resistance and moved as though he were about to physically pick the boy up when a fist hit him square in the jaw.

“OW! FUCK!” Steve cursed, doubling over as he cradled his hand to his chest. “That fucking hurt!”

Rumlow released Bucky’s arm in surprise as he stumbled back, holding his face. It didn’t take him long to recover, the shock in his face turning to unbridled anger as his dark eyes took in Steve nursing his hand, and he straightened, squaring his shoulders as he moved forwards.

Steve would probably be knocked out cold with one of Rumlow’s blows – Bucky had seen him in action before and the guy took no prisoners. Without really thinking about the consequences, Bucky stepped in quickly, his raised knee making good, solid contact with Rumlow’s crotch and causing him to drop like a stone to the floor without a single sound.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked Steve as he hauled him upright.

“Yeah,” Steve replied, glancing from Bucky to Rumlow, and back again. “You?”

“Better now you’re here,” Bucky laughed. “Let’s go before he gets up.”

By now, the scuffle had begun to draw attention. The band had stopped playing and the people had ceased dancing, the volume of the chatter rising fast. In the distance, Bucky could hear police sirens. Casting a glance at Rumlow who was starting to get his act together again, he grabbed Steve’s hand and pulled. Steve took his cue and led Bucky through the crowd at a run.

The exit was blocked with people trying to leave in a hurry and they were seemingly trapped until Steve tugged Bucky towards the railing and peered out over the dark water.

“Do you trust me?” Steve asked breathlessly, his hands on Bucky’s shoulders.

“You want me to jump?” Bucky asked in disbelief.

“It’s either that or we go to jail.”

Bucky looked behind him at Rumlow and listened to the police sirens grow louder. There really wasn’t any other way out of this.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, and vaulted over the side of the barge, Steve following close behind.

He fell fast and vertically, his body slicing easily through the water as he hit. It was a hell of a lot colder than he’d anticipated, and he came up gasping and floundering until Steve’s arm wrapped around his waist.

“I gotcha,” Steve murmured into his ear, immediately soothing him.

They allowed the gentle current to carry them away from the barge before making their way to the bank and staggering out of the water, completely wet through. Steve led Bucky to a rock where they sat down, side by side, and Steve put an arm around Bucky’s shoulders as he shivered.

“Alright?” Steve asked, breathlessly.

“Fine,” Bucky replied. “How are you?”

“Peachy!” replied Steve as he pushed his hair back.

They looked at each other and began to laugh. Steve’s hair was plastered to his head and his blue shirt was practically see-through and sticking to his skin. They were both sodden and Bucky could only guess the state he was in.

“You know, you were great back there,” Steve said with a smile.

“You weren't so bad yourself,” Bucky replied softly.

They were still breathing hard, shivering with the cold and sitting altogether too close once again. Even in the moonlight, Bucky could count the pale freckles across Steve’s nose and see the drops of river water that still clung to his eyelashes. He was so beautiful, so good, and looking at Bucky as though he were the best thing on earth.

It was Steve who finally closed the gap, eyes closing as he softly cupped the side of Bucky’s face and kissed him. Bucky couldn’t think, could barely breathe as Steve’s lips pressed against his, velvet-soft; his touch gentle. It lasted only a few seconds but left Bucky dizzy and breathless when Steve pulled away, sky blue eyes searching Bucky’s.

“I...I guess we'd better get out of here,” Steve murmured, standing up from the rock and holding out his hand.

“Yeah,” Bucky whispered, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet.

 Neither of them spoke as they hurried through the shadows to find their scooter, even though Bucky’s hand stayed firmly in Steve’s.

 

****

 

Back at Steve’s apartment, Bucky stripped out of his wet things and hung them to dry over the shower rail in the bathroom. He was still reeling from this kiss on the riverbank, from the feel of Steve’s lips against his.

It had been there all day, from the minute Bucky woke up half naked in Steve’s bed, there had been chemistry between them; increasing with every moment they spent together. He understood Steve’s hesitation – Bucky was barely eighteen and no more than a random stranger Steve rescued off the street. It was likely that after this night, they would never see each other again. Still, Bucky couldn’t shake the fact that kissing Steve had felt like the most natural, easy thing in the world, and more than that, it had felt so right.

Bucky ran the tap in the small bathroom sink and splashed some cold water onto his face before patting it dry with the single towel and pulling on the borrowed clothes Steve had given him to change into. With one last glance in the tiny shaving mirror, Bucky opened the bathroom door and walked out to see Steve standing by the bed and pulling on a clean t-shirt. He laughed softly when he saw Bucky.

“Is everything ruined?”

“Nah,” Bucky murmured. “They'll be dry in a minute.”

Steve grinned.

“That looks good on you,” Steve said, indicating to Bucky’s attire. “You should always wear my clothes.”

“Seems I do,” Bucky replied.

Steve’s cheeks flushed a pale pink and he ducked his head, hiding his blush as he stooped to pick up his wet clothes from the floor and moved past Bucky to deposit them in the bath. Bucky could only imagine how silly he looked in Steve’s borrowed boxer briefs and shirt that was slightly too big for him, falling to mid-thigh and slipping off his shoulder. He giggled and ran his hand though his mostly dry hair as he moved away from the bathroom and into the apartment, noticing the walls for the first time.

“Are these yours?” he asked as Steve re-emerged, pointing to the series of framed photographs. “I mean, I know they’re yours - they’re in your apartment, they belong to you. I meant did you take them?”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Years ago.”

“They’re beautiful,” Bucky murmured. “You’re really talented.”

The series was black and white but blindingly intricate detail. They were close-up shots of people, but only of certain parts – the eye of a woman with heavy makeup looking into the distance; a slim-fingered, beautiful hand wrapped around a coffee cup; a smooth collarbone peeking out from a v-necked shirt. They were mesmerising.

Behind him, Steve stepped closer, reaching out to tug gently at Bucky’s shirt sleeve.

“Bucky,” he said, voice soft and serious. “I really need to tell you something…”

“Don’t,” Bucky whispered, shaking his head as he turned around to face him. “It’s been the most perfect day and you’ve been the most perfect person to spend it with...but we both know that I have to go back. I don’t want to ruin it. I want to remember this exactly as it is.”

Steve took a deep breath and closed his eyes, nodding gently in agreement, his hands sliding up Bucky’s arms to come to rest on the side of his neck, leaning forward so that their foreheads touched. There was an ache in Bucky’s heart that was almost too much to bear.

He wanted to stay. He’d even run through different scenarios while he was changing out of his wet clothes, but he knew they’d all be doomed to failure. If he stayed with Steve in Rome, he’d be caught in no time. He couldn’t leave the country because he had no passport and even if he did, he’d be detained the second he walked into the airport. He had no choice - he had to go back. 

“You’ve done so much for me already today,” Bucky murmured, fingers playing at the neckline of Steve’s t-shirt, brushing over soft cotton and smooth skin, “but I need to ask you to do one more thing.”

“Anything,” whispered Steve.

Bucky looked up into sky blue eyes, his fingers trailing along the line of Steve’s collarbone. He’d never forget how gorgeous Steve Rogers was close up for as long as he lived.

“Kiss me.”

It was whispered, a request that Bucky barely managed to voice out loud but he wanted it so much. Steve looked at him for a second, nose brushing against Bucky’s and then he closed the gap, kissing Bucky soft and slow.

Once they had started it was like they couldn’t stop, each kiss longer and deeper than the last, Bucky melting into Steve’s warm, solid body, arms around his neck and fingers buried in Steve’s hair as the most desperate whine escaped his lips. It was perfect - Steve’s hands sliding down Bucky’s body, drawing him in as they moved to the backs of his thighs and pulled him up slowly.

He’d never been kissed like this before in his life. Every experience so far had been hurried and messy, a clash of teeth and numb lips. This was entirely different – languid and explorative, Steve’s mouth hot and wet on his, his hands large and warm on Bucky’s skin. Everything melted away from him – everything except this, filling his head, overwhelming his senses and taking over so that it was all Bucky could think about. He didn’t ever want to come up for air.

They fell onto the bed, Bucky’s long legs wrapped around Steve’s thighs and Steve’s weight over him, gently pressing him down into the mattress as they continued to kiss. Bucky lost time; too absorbed in the sporadic brush of Steve’s tongue against his, those gorgeous hands running through his hair and down his neck, over his chest, tugging Bucky closer by his waist. When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless and shaking, fingers trying to stroke whatever bare skin they could reach.

“Can I stay?” Bucky whispered as Steve’s nose ran softly down his cheek. “Just for an hour - then I’ll go. I just…I don’t want to leave just yet.”

Steve nodded, hair rustling on the pillow as he buried his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“Okay,” he murmured, voice muffled by fabric and skin.

Bucky sighed contentedly, snuggling closer into Steve’s warmth and closing his eyes as he nuzzled into the soft cotton t-shirt at Steve’s shoulder. He could feel Steve’s heart beating beneath his hand, strong and steady, soothing and calming, and wished they could stay that way forever, tangled up in each other without a care for anything or anyone else in the world.

 

****

 

Neither of them spoke as Steve drove the scooter through the quiet early morning streets of Rome with Bucky’s arms around his waist and his head resting against Steve’s shoulder. They were both in so much trouble. Twenty-four hours ago, Steve wouldn’t have cared less about another rich entitled kid having to face the wrath of their parents after having gone missing for a day, but that was before he’d met Bucky. The kid wasn’t bad – he was honestly the sweetest person Steve had ever met and it made him feel sick to think of him facing former President Barnes all by himself.

Steve hadn’t even realised that he’d fallen asleep until he was startled awake by the blaring horn of an early morning delivery truck. There was a weight on him over his right side, fingers curled up in the fabric of his t-shirt and soft hair brushing against his chin. Sighing softly, he pulled Bucky closer and the boy stirred slightly with a soft noise.

He’d never meant for this to happen; to end up spending the night tangled up in Bucky Barnes. Steve knew he shouldn’t have kissed him, but Bucky had been there, sitting on a rock by the bank of the Tiber with river water dripping from the end of his nose and giggling as he shivered, and it had been too easy to lean forward and kiss him. It had been even easier to kiss Bucky in his apartment, to hold him close, feel his bare skin soft and warm under his hands and get lost in him.

Next thing they knew it had been almost five in the morning and Steve had to take Bucky back home.

“Stop at the next corner, please,” Bucky murmured against Steve’s shirt. 

“Okay.”

He slowed down, stopping at the corner and leaning forward to see the Embassy gate visible down the street.

“Here?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied quietly, releasing his hold on Steve’s waist and sliding from the scooter.

Steve felt as though his heart was about to break, standing there holding Bucky’s hands in his own. Bucky stared at the ground, completely miserable and there was nothing at all Steve could do to change that. This entire situation was all his fault

“I don't know how to say goodbye,” Bucky muttered, choking back tears. “I can't think of any words.”

“Don't try,” Steve replied. 

Bucky sniffed, and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand.

“Give me your phone.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me,” Bucky replied.

After everything they’d been through together that day, it would have been ridiculous for Steve to deny him, so he dug in his pocket for his phone and gently placed it into Bucky’s outstretched hand. Immediately, Bucky turned and put his back to Steve’s chest and held up the phone, opening up the camera app.

“Smile.”

Steve wished he could smile at a moment like this. It was probably the last time he’d ever be this close to Bucky and he wanted to smile for the camera so they’d have the perfect memento, but instead he wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist and held him tightly, burying his nose into that soft dark hair and breathing him in. Bucky giggled when he saw it - his eyes red and still wet, but his smile beautiful.

“That’ll do,” he murmured, quickly typing in a number to Steve’s phone before handing it back. “Now you have my number.”

They looked at each other, the pink tinge of dawn beginning to cast their shadows out on the pavement as Bucky threw himself into Steve’s arms, kissing him one last time. It didn’t last nearly as long as Steve wanted it to, and all he wanted to do when Bucky pulled back was to reel him in again.

“I have to go,” Bucky whispered, deliberately stepping back.

Steve watched Bucky walk away, looking over his shoulder once before disappearing around the corner and Steve looked down at the empty street toward the gate, fighting the impulse to go after him. It would only make things worse if he did. What would he even say? With a shaky sigh, Steve climbed back onto the Vespa, restarted the engine, and headed home alone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everybody who read, left kudos, commented, and reblogged on tumblr. Extra thanks to everyone who let me whine and throw my panicked ideas at them, and extra extra thanks to cabloom who may have single handedly saved my ending.

Bucky felt numb as he sat on his bed, Alexander Pierce pacing back and forth in front of him as they waited for his father to arrive. He’d never seen Pierce so pissed off – usually the man had his emotions kept firmly in check and never let anything slip, but as Bucky watched him, he realised that he had gone missing under the man’s watch. Pierce had slipped up, and he was in about as much trouble as Bucky was.

“Twenty-four hours,” Pierce said quietly. “They can't all be blank.”

“They’re not,” Bucky admitted, squaring his shoulders.

“Then what explanation do you offer? Why did you run off?”

“You know why,” Bucky replied calmly. “It was my birthday and I didn’t want to be a slave to your schedule, Mr Pierce. It was only meant to be for a few hours, but the sedative that Doctor Karpov gave me kicked in. Luckily, I was taken in by a wonderful man who gave me a place to sleep and then gave me the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Pierce stopped pacing and looked coldly at Bucky.

“Did you have sex with him?”

Bucky scoffed, disgusted.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” he replied. “To hold something like that over my head and prove that I still have poor judgement and can’t be trusted out on my own?”

“Did you?” Pierce asked again, his expression unreadable.

Bucky sighed.

“No,” he said quietly. “I could have. I wanted to. But I didn’t. Sorry to disappoint you.”

Pierce made a small noise and started his pacing once again.

“You must appreciate that I have my duty to perform, just as you, as the First Son, have your duty...”

“Mr Pierce,” Bucky interrupted him loudly. “If I wasn’t completely aware of my duty to my family and my country, I would not have come back, not today or ever again.”

They looked at each other, surprise registering on Pierce’s face as Bucky sat up straighter. Ever since he’d been released from rehab, Bucky had been under Pierce’s rule. He’d been a child, broken and damaged and determined to please. He’d never realised how strong he was, that he could stand up for himself, that he could push back and demand to be heard. He wasn’t an unruly dog who needed to be brought to heel – he was his own person, he was a good person, and it was about time they all understood that.

Behind Pierce, there was the sound of somebody clearing their throat and Pierce turned, stepping to the side to allow Bucky’s father to enter the room. George Barnes was the person Bucky had been least looking forward to facing on his return, but instead of seeing rage or even disappointment on his father’s face, Bucky saw resignation.

“You heard all that, huh?” Bucky murmured, looking at his feet.

“I did,” his father replied quietly. “I was all ready to yell, to call you irresponsible and selfish...”

Bucky cringed.

“...but I would have been wrong to do that.”

He looked up sharply. His father was standing in front of him, hands in his pockets, watching Bucky closely.

“I’ve been hard on you this past few years and you’ve borne it gracefully and, for the most part, without complaint. I should have recognised it earlier – I should have let you have your birthday to yourself instead of expecting you to obediently trot along at my heels. The fact that you thought about staying away but came back to face this tells me that you’ve grown up a lot in three years.”

Bucky took a deep breath and slowly let it out again as his eyes fell back to his shoes.

“I’m sorry I worried you, dad.”

“I know,” George Barnes replied quietly. “Now, get some sleep...take the day. We’ll finish up in Rome and talk about this more when we get back to the States, okay?”

Bucky nodded, carefully avoiding Pierce’s eye as his father ruffled his hair gently.

“Hair cut looks good, by the way.”

Bucky grinned, looking up again in time to catch his father’s smile before he turned and walked out of the bedroom, beckoning Pierce with him.

As reprimands went, it could have been a hell of a lot worse.

 

****

 

Steve didn’t go home immediately. He didn’t think he could stand being alone in his apartment with the scent of Bucky still clinging to his sheets, so he went for a walk through the early morning market on his way back, stopping for a cup of coffee and to pick half-heartedly at a lemon crepe that his stomach didn’t really want. When he finally reached his apartment building, he found Sam Wilson standing outside, holding Steve’s camera.

“Where the hell were you?” Sam asked as Steve walked right past him and into the building. “You took off last night and I couldn’t find you.”

“I took Bucky home,” Steve replied heavily.

“I see, Sam replied carefully. “So...now that he’s out of your hair, are you ready to help me put together a story?”

Steve stayed silent as he fished his keys from his pocket and unlocked his door, allowing Sam for follow him in. Sam looked at him expectantly, holding out Steve’s camera for him to take but Steve couldn’t move his arm.

“I can’t.”

Sam’s face fell.

“For Christ’s sake, Steve,” he groaned.

“I know, and I’m sorry for wasting your time and leading you on with this,” Steve said, leaning heavily against the wall and covering his face with his hands, “but I can’t do this to him. You met him, Sam – you spent the day with him too. He’s a good kid, he doesn’t deserve to find out that the people he spent his birthday with, people he chose to trust, betrayed him by taking pictures and selling a story for cold hard cash.”

Sam looked at his feet guiltily.

“Well, when you put it like that...”

Steve sighed and slid down the wall, landing on the floor with a heavy bump.

“It’s a shame,” Sam continued quietly as he crossed over to Steve’s couch and sat down. “You took some amazing photos yesterday.”

Steve managed a weak smile.

“Thanks.”

“What a waste.”

Sam sat back heavily and placed the camera down next to him with a sigh.

“I can’t stop you from selling the story, Sam...”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam replied lightly. “It’s not much good without photos though.”

He grinned and Steve managed a small laugh. Sam was a great guy really. Steve was just sorry he’d brought the whole thing up – they might have split ten grand between them on this if they had been more ruthless reporters. Sometimes it sucked to have a conscience.

“You actually did fall for him, didn’t you?”

Steve looked up at his friend, surprised. Sam was smiling gently at him as he picked up the camera again, turned it on, and flipped through the last few before passing the camera to Steve. The picture was of Bucky and Steve slow dancing on the barge, standing closer to each other than perfect strangers should, and gazing into each other’s eyes. Sam must have taken it.

“It’s kinda plain as the nose on your face.”

Steve laughed.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I guess it is.”

Sam was silent for a moment, watching Steve as he stared at the photo on the camera. After a while, he got up, sighing softly and walked to the door.

“I’m sorry man.”

“Me too,” Steve replied with a sad smile.

“See you around.”

“Yeah.”

Sam gave him a sympathetic smile before opening the door and walking out, closing it behind him and leaving Steve to stare at the camera full of photographs. Sam had been right – Steve had taken some amazing ones, but the Bucky Barnes was incredibly photogenic. It was almost a shame that he’d never see them.

With a sigh, Steve hauled himself to his feet and went in search of his laptop. He was about to do something incredibly stupid that he would most certainly regret, but he couldn’t lie anymore. Bucky deserved to know the truth.

 

****

 

Bucky had slept a little, ate a late breakfast, showered, and had settled down with a novel to read and a cup of strong coffee when his phone buzzed quietly from its place on the dresser. His phone number was only held by a limited number of people – his parents; his sister; his best friend in Manhattan, Natasha – and he hadn’t really expected any of them to call him at this time of day. It was only when he picked up the phone and saw a new name that he remembered who else he’d given the number to.

Heart hammering in his chest, Bucky unlocked his phone and opened the text message. In the flurry of activity since he’d arrived back at the Embassy, Bucky had failed to pick up the first message that he’d sent to himself from Steve’s phone. He scrolled past the photo he’d taken of himself and Steve in the early hours of the morning and moved onto the text message. It was long, and Bucky’s heart began to sink the second he started reading.

 

_“Bucky – I’ve been racking my brain all morning to try and come up with the best way of telling you this, but every way just sounds worse than the last. I guess that means that I just have to come out and say it: I’ve not told you the whole truth._

_When we had coffee yesterday I told you I was a photographer, but that was only half the story. The truth is that I have a contract with SHIELD International News Agency and Sam...well, Sam is a reporter._

_I didn’t know who you were when I brought you home with me. As far as I knew, you were just another drunk kid who couldn’t remember where home was and a total pain in my ass. It was only when I went into work late that I saw your picture in the newspaper and realised who was sleeping in my bed._

_Before I met you, I held a lot of assumptions. I thought I’d be able to swallow my principals to make a quick buck at a rich kid’s expense by selling a cheap-shot exposé. I was wrong every way I can imagine, about you; about me, and then I was selfish. I could’ve confessed the minute you walked out of that barber’s - I knew right then I couldn’t do it._

_The day was based on a lie, but one thing is true: I wanted to spend it with you and so I didn’t tell you the truth. All I can do now is give you the photos you didn’t know we were taking. They will never go to SHIELD or anyone else; they’re yours if you want them. That’s the whole truth. I’m sorry._

-  _Steve”_

 

Bucky sat down heavily on the end of his bed, and tried to breathe. He felt like he should do something – scream, cry, punch a wall or smash a vase but nothing came to him as he read the message again and again. His entire world had just crashed down around him in a matter of seconds and he felt numb. He didn’t know what to make of any of it.

It had all been a lie.

No...not so much a lie, but an omission of the truth. Steve had led Bucky to believe that he was just a regular guy when he wasn’t; he’d made Bucky believe that he wanted to spend the day with him out of goodness when he’d only wanted to get a story and good pictures to sell.

Then again, Steve had had a change of heart and told him the truth in the end. Now that Bucky thought about it, Steve had tried to tell him back at the apartment and Bucky had cut him off. He wondered what would have happened if he’d let Steve speak instead of asking Steve to kiss him.

It had all felt so real with – every single minute of it. There was no faking that kind of chemistry with somebody.

With a shuddering breath, Bucky typed a hasty reply.

_“Meet me in an hour.”_

Shoving his phone into his pocket, Bucky stood up and went to find his secret service agent. He had to see Steve again, to look into his eyes and hear the whole truth from Steve’s lips or he’d never forgive either of them.

 

****

 

He waited patiently on the same rock by the river that he and Bucky had sat on the night before. Steve couldn’t fault the kid for his sense of irony – asking to meet at the place where Steve had first kissed him. He had never imagined Bucky to text back at all much less ask him to meet. At best, he’d expected a tirade of insults and foul language, all of which he rightly deserved. Bucky had every right to be furious with him.

He’d been sitting for a while, sure that Bucky had changed his mind when he heard the sound of a car pulling up overhead and he looked up nervously. It was a black state car with tinted windows and diplomatic flags on the hood, and Steve’s heart almost stopped when a secret service agent stepped out and opened the door for Bucky, staying by the car as Bucky made his way down to the river bank.

Steve’s heart hammered in his chest as Bucky walked towards him, eyes looking dark and tired against pale skin, expression unreadable. Steve forced himself to look Bucky in the eye, shoulders hunched and hands in his pockets with no idea what to say.

“What the hell, Steve?” Bucky asked softly, breaking the silence.

Steve took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I don’t know what to say, Buck. I fucked up...I massively fucked up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. “You did.”

Steve looked at his feet and kicked at the grass.

“I...brought the photos,” he said quietly, taking the heavy manila envelope from the back pocket of his jeans and holding it out, noticing with dismay that it was bent out of shape from where he’d sat on it.

Bucky took it silently and paused for a split second before opening it and sliding out the pictures. Steve stood dumbly, watching as Bucky looked at each one in turn, blue-grey eyes drinking in every detail, gaze lingering for a long time.

“You really are talented,” Bucky murmured eventually, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You managed to find my best angle every time.”

“You look good from every angle,” Steve replied immediately.

Bucky looked at him steadily as he took out the top photograph and turned it so that Steve could see.

“I think this is my favourite though. It wasn’t even taken by you.”

Steve inhaled sharply. It was the picture Sam had shown him back in the apartment; the one he’d taken of Steve and Bucky dancing with each other on the barge. He felt the heat rush to his face.

“It’s a shame Sam didn’t catch you kneeing that guy in the balls,” he joked.

To his surprise, Bucky snorted and then burst into a fit of laughter, his face brightening immediately.

“Oh my god, I would have had that one framed!” he giggled. “Poor Rumlow.”

Steve felt himself grin.

“How is he?”

“Out of commission for a while,” Bucky replied, amused. “Last I heard he was still icing his crotch and he’ll probably hate me for the rest of his life, but...I couldn’t let him punch you.”

Steve laughed softly.

“I bet you’re regretting that decision now.”

“Surprisingly, not so much,” Bucky replied.

Steve looked at the ground again.

“I made a terrible decision, Bucky. I should have told you the truth at the first opportunity but...you were so cute and sweet and fun and adventurous and daring. I fell a little in love with you yesterday and I just couldn’t...I couldn’t tell you the truth because I didn’t want it to stop.”

Bucky sighed and slid the photos carefully back into the envelope.

“The fact that you’re beating yourself up over it tells me a hell of a lot.”

Steve grinned ruefully.

“I guess that’s my Catholic upbringing.”

“Not so good with guilt, huh?”

Bucky gave him a soft smile before stuffing the envelope of photos into his back pocket and folding his arms across his chest.

“I think I needed to see that photo,” Bucky continued. “The one of you and me on the barge. The whole way here, I was trying to figure out if I’d been fooling myself about us; if it was all just pretence on your part...”

“It wasn’t,” Steve murmured.

“I know,” replied Bucky softly. “But I had to see it to believe it, I guess.”

Steve looked at him steadily. Bucky was still that wide-eyed, beautiful boy he’d spent a perfect day with, but now he was less soft around the edges. Steve hated himself for being the cause.

Sighing, Bucky ran a hand through his hair.

“I am mad at you, Steve,” he said. “I’m fucking pissed as hell that you had the thought to try to exploit me. By rights I should probably punch you in the face.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Steve replied.

Bucky smiled.

“Yeah well...I’m not gonna. Turns out I like you too much to hurt your pretty face.”

Steve laughed softly.

“Thanks.”

Bucky smiled, head tilted to the side as if thinking about something. After a moment, he shook his head and walked forward and, much to Steve’s surprise, pulled him in by the collar of his shirt and kissed him, soft and sweet.

“I fell a little in love with you too,” Bucky murmured as he pulled back, smoothing out Steve’s shirt with the flat on his hand. “But you still fucked up and it’s gonna take me a little while to come to terms with that.”

Steve’s heart thudded in his chest as he reached up to softly stoke Bucky’s cheek, watching those grey-blue eyes flutter closed for a second as Bucky leaned into his touch.

“I understand that,” he whispered.

Slowly, Bucky nodded and smiled as he stepped back from Steve and began walking backwards towards the car.

“I have your number,” Bucky called to him. “I’ll call you sometime.”

Steve huffed a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck as he watched Bucky turn around and walk away.

“I’ll be waiting for it,” he replied.

Bucky turned and grinned.

“Don’t hold your breath, Rogers.”

Steve grinned as he watched Bucky climb into the car with dark tinted windows, glancing once over his shoulder to see Steve still standing on the bank.

“You know I will,” he murmured to himself as the secret service agent closed the door and the black car drove away.

Sighing, Steve stuck his hands into his pockets and started to walk home, a faint glimmer of hope in his heart.


End file.
